Faces of the River
I still recall, remember still,
The thousand faces that I saw
When watching, from that cypress deck,
The river of my youth. I draw
Upon those memories, long gone.
The river, in its silent flow
A'steam, primevil; I could see
The swamps of centuries ago...
That morning river called to me.
And that same river, whipped by storm
Would rage and fly and shock the ones
Who called it lazy. Then, the calm,
Would gloss its surface. Egrets white
Floated, magestic,o'er the glass
(Reflecting blue from cobalt sky)
Would hang, in mid-flight, dive and pass.
I'm older now. I understand
That, like the river, people show
But one face of a thousand, use
The face they think the world should know.
Yet, like the river, flowing on
Its patient journey to the sea;
Now smooth, now rough, now wild, now tame--
Each person shows a symmetry
Which many faces can reveal--
And so, the river touches me,
My spirit, with its every face!
For, rivers run. Rivers are free!