SIXTY PERCENT

Poor poets prate in cliches
Of rivers that run to the sea
Of streams winding down to the harbour
Where the weary find sanctuary

Such writers align men's souls
With the flood of the incoming tide
The sailor, the hunter, the lost ones
And all of those who have died

They write with well worn metaphor
How beloved dear ones will be
As one with the great heaving ocean
The stream, the lake and the sea

And the scientist in me wonders
Where the truth of the words may be
For we're at least 3/5ths water
And our tears match the salt in the sea

As matter cannot be destroyed
our water will always be here
Whether streams or steam or clouds
Floating high in the atmosphere

And the poet in me rejoices
When I've quit my mortal plane
I shall still be here in some form
Mayhap falling as sweet gentle rain

Cooling at first the dry dusty earth
Raining down from on high
Sliding along the lightning's tail
Drenching the lowering sky

Dousing dust from the gum leaves
Flooding hard on the plain
Gurgling down dirty gutters
Filling streams and creeks again

A continuous cycle of water
Life giving rain I'll be
At one with the streams and the rivers
As we flow to the endless sea