The Water

Reluctantly the water moves between these protruding banks.

Disdainfully it seeps down, before me, reaching me, and passing me.

Why does it continue to move, why not halt against its icy entrapment?

It rather trickle forth in its strenuous fashion.

These banks are greedy.

Augmented from their origional size, although not of their fault I suppose.

It is in the air that a force comes to draw them together.

Bubbling through, the water maintains their seperation.