name (n).

When was it that I became so scared and sad? I have muddied it for myself, rustled up a hurricane with my worry and doubt, ripping leaves off trees, piling too high these bricks and books, clenching too tight the ropes in my hands. 

Here it is - I will go back to the Beginning and remember how simple it was, how clear: I want to be a river, I want to be always Spring, I want not to be the poet but the poem itself. And (possibly the most important), I don't need to be anything else.