The Water and the Rock

Hard rock was I, and she was water flowing,Over sharp stones of opposition going;Shaping herself to me as to a cup,She filled the valleys of my ego upWith a cool, smooth compliance, everywhereAs yielding and unhurtable as air.

Soft was my love as water, and I forgotIn the calm wash of complaint rhythm caughtHow water shapes and softens, sculpts and smoothsThe channel of the rock through which it moves.