There is a fish, that quivers in the pool,
Itself a shadow, but its shadow, clear.
Catch it again and again, it still is there.
Against the flowing stream, its life keeps pace
With death – the impulse and the flash of grace
Hiding in its stillness, moves to be motionless.
No net will hold it – always it will return
Where the ripples settle, and the sand –
It lives unmoved, equated with the stream,
As flowers are fit for air, man for his dream.