The Hermit

The hermit hears the calling
On the far side of the river;
The hermit hears it daily,
But he cannot cross the river:
The currents are too savage,
And the water never slackens;
The waters are benumbing
And they swirl without forgiveness.
Some stepping-stones show promise,
So the hermit lights upon them,
But they give out halfway over,
And the hermit is defeated.
He thinks to build a causeway
Out of wattles from the woodland,
Yet the wattles sink beneath him
And he struggles to the shoreline.
He resigns himself to scission,
For he once craved isolation;
The hermit is the author
Of his own incarceration.