12.3.10

River


We are the river flowr’s, gliding next’ the river rowers
And on the banks that lower,
We mark the sand-trod roamers
We are the trees who vow, ‘mong the climbers aim our prow
That with each the setting bough,
To unearth our dreams, somehow
We are the fields of grain and grass, that raise from dew our guiding mast
To travel ‘mong the shadows passed,
We are the forms from which they cast
We are the blues and greens that fade, past horizon on horizon lain
That brew the colours never made,
We are the shimmering shades, sustained.
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