— tags:
- poem propmt: A river and the land around it Complete: true Notes:
I didn’t always like the River. It is dirty. It is full of trash. The water is black. The River runs from north to south. Carving a path town to town. It meanders through my town but never stops. It moves on. Looking down I see the black stream. No bottom insight. It crests my vision, rounding a bend through the medieval square. The River was here before me. It will continue after I am gone. A bicycle wheel pokes out among the reeds. It calls for help. The River is dirty.
Walking north I learned to appreciate the River. The city gave way to trees. Water flows clearer. The River has a voice. I hear it. A low choir hums a chord. It is old and wise. Father of the valley. I walk along the River north. The River chord grows louder as it widens. Waves crash together. The hum rises to a great song. Each note crashes with the next as the waters flow past.
The River is not just the water. The Land gives him shape. The River carved through the Land over ages. To the east a graveyard overlooks him. The hill curves, folds and grooves. Ever changing, always beautiful. The Motherland frames and shapes the River. Her trees embrace the River. Not too tight. Next to the River and the Land I am small, I am safe.