Stream

I sift through dusty orange leaves
I dropped my glasses near the stream
Without them I can barely see

Sitting on the water’s iced bank
I sighed, downcast at this mistake
And wondered if my glasses sank

Now it’s dim and getting cold
I sit, still lost and far from roads
I’ve lost my yearning to go home

The cold swells up my pastel cheeks
I’ve been defeated by the creek
A thing so gentle, quiet, and meek.