The river hurries down the channel,
weekend rain
made urgent.
The sea will be waiting
all the same.
But today she shall not dally,
full she spreads the fabric of her gown,
and she hastens,
not once looking back.
Her train of sticks,
drifting in curls
along the edges
will come along in time.
The river hurries down the channel
to meet the sea in New Orleans
where they will surely be wed
under a new moon.
1 comment:
That's beautiful, Bert. I love the imagery and its the kind of poem you just want to savor as the words go through your mind. I also like that it has a kind of structure to it.
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