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A SILVER RIBBON

 

The River flows through green meadows yonder,

From the hillside I gaze and quietly wonder;

 

About all the past souls who saw it in yore,

Absorbing it s beauty and now they’re no more.

 

Was it always so gentle and ever so trim?

Caressing grasses along the bank’s rim.

 

Sweet liquid creation, O free running thing,

The sheen on your surface makes my heart sing.

 

Your depths are a mystery where the fish hide,

And rush beds make way for the Swan to abide;

 

The scampering Moor-hen’s cackling cluck,

Shatters the silence, disturbing the Duck.

 

Artery of life as you reach to the sea,

The Willow Tree bows in obeisance to thee;

 

Without the great water and blessings you bring,

My gaze would be empty, my heart would not sing.

 

Monty Alexander 17.2.99

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