The River, by Albert Ahearn
|
The river runs its winding course
along an ageless bank I stand
ceaselessly brewing silty soup
a recipe of dirt and sand….
I played in youth along these shores
And swam its raging watercourse
Wearing makeshift suits, swimming nude,
floating its breadth on inner tubes….
Alas! Those days are nevermore.
… As I mused my lost childhood years
Seeing this eternal river
from a timeless riverbank
it’s hard to fathom life’s changes
until I saw my wrinkly hands.
|
Posted: 2014-03-18 17:58:47 UTC |
This poem has no votes yet. | To vote, you must be logged in.
|
To leave comments, you must be logged in.