River words



River still quite high from the spate.

Drinks in the sunlight that stretches the breadth,

Warming itself without guilt.

Clean, cleansing water to heal a tortured soul

Sun beats,

Warming only the surface,

The under still untold.

Driven with purpose, flitting with the pull,

Sometimes fighting, idle

Ignites a foreign flow.

Wicked river he said as he left.





Dappling on the surface in the merciful light,

Dull, dark and damaged,

Did spring take your glory?

Wistful thinking.

You are in charge.

Deciding what and how to be

As the curve of the bed a-lines

Pressure builds behind

You fall onto sunken course.


Angela Margaret Main




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