Discontent

Walking in the pasture, low and dark,
I hear the sound of meadowlark;
Carrying on, without a hope near me,
I hear the song of the canary.

The whys and hows, have hounded me,
As the coolness washes through the trees;
What will I do now, I wonder,
As my feet slip into the crisp, clear water.

The water washes away my dirt,
But not the pain of my hurt;
I take a delicious taste of the purity,
And dunk my head, and end the insecurity.