The Rush of the Sucker River

My substance is such
That I cannot bear much
Save this short summer rush,
Save this reach down and touch.
Found no worse for the wear,
Though no better; no care.
Cost, the fear of my fare:
Lost, the deer slipping snare.
My new sister and friend,
Forgive, untake my hand.
Let's start walking again
Lest our talking should end.