It starts out narrow, at its source.
First confined, all along its course.
Mountain walls hold it, on a path so narrow.
These towers of age, hold it straight arrow.

But as the stream further aged.
It broke free, of its cage.
Gradually, across the prairie it spread.
Its vision and insight, watched and read.

Now my stream. so very wide with age.
Has tolerance, knowledge, perhaps a sage.

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