Of Least Resistance

Note: Thirty-four years ago, I began writing poetry. From time to time, generally between blog series, I like to share one with you. Today's poem I wrote just prior to finishing high school. I was contemplating life, what kind of man I would become, and the part doing the difficult thing would play in that. Stay tuned; a new blog series launches next week.

Of  Least  Resistance

The other day, while on a stroll

I spied a rippling brook

Where tender little trout and perch

Await the fisher's hook

It coursed along, 'tween stones and things

Meandered here and there

Beneath a bridge, around a rock

Or made some tree roots bare

I turned upon a whim

Traversed its winding path

This laughing brook enchanted me

From scenes of former wrath

It gurgled merrily on

As if without a care

I followed it from stone to stone

We wandered here and there

Then 'midst the sunlight and the leaves

The pebbles and the trout

I realized what that guy had meant

When he was talking 'bout

The similarities between

Bad men and brooks, no doubt

He said one day, upon a chance

That which I'd pondered late

"The path of least resistance

Does not make rivers straight"

It makes them change their course

Avoid the rocks and trees

Wind in and out and back and forth

Like flights of bumblebees

And so it is with men

Who throughout days of life

Have chosen to avoid

The hardships and the strife

They wander here and there

Just like that little brook

The path of least resistance

Makes a man a crook

- by Tom Brennan

April 1, 1991