Wednesday, April 21, 2010

The River Flows

The river flows through reeds and trees.
It shivers when kissed by the breeze.
The memory of the ice and cold,
Has not faded but winter’s old,
And soon will no more hold its freeze.

As time flows on the birds and bees
Emerge, though cold to buzz or sneeze,
In haste for life before they’re old
The river flows.

Smoke rises gently from chimneys.
Late snow does not scare the pansies.
Spring will come in spite of the cold.
Seasons ripple on, time unfolds.
Regardless how the doubts may tease.
The river flows.

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