The river days still flow there, in youthful memory,
And sunlight flickers gently on ripples, clear and slight;
Then down beyond the sandbank, spills pure into the sea,
Which claims the drops with a dark delight.
Flowers are ever fragrant and grass is freshest here,
Where Nature's regal beauty is something known to few;
But slowly, clouds are creeping to skies of always-clear:
They form above as I drink the dew.
It has been many years now, since I lay by the stream
And heard the subtle humming of each jade dragonfly;
Boys dangling their toes in, and watching fishes teem,
Stared silently as the cars passed by.
Those days are in the past, as I cannot find a way
To caper down bright hillsides and in the river wade;
I slouch now in my office, with walls of sullen grey,
Counting the hours of the life I've made.
A NightWriter original |
