Shouldn't…but Do

Beside the stream, the rushes grew, bending, whispering what they knew.

What they saw, in clear blue skies, when Icarus fell from far on high.

The sun was brilliant, and far too hot, he reached, he climbed, he laughed

But youth betrayed and never forgave as heat slipped his feathers away.

And down he went, with glorious bent, a shooting star fell to the earth

Into the sea, the stretching sea, the primordial water of birth.

To the stream on the land, two thousand years hence

By dusty road under the sun

Trucks roll by the winding stream, the rushes remain whispering still

The rushes remain whispering still.