Trees of oak and willow wood
Poise in towering queue at river's edge.
And, in bowed repose,
Reach down with verdant fingers
To caress in idle play and tenderness
The frisky current racing just below.
Were it possible, these arbored sentinels
Would desert their watch on river's bank
To join the search for new embrace.
But, stay behind they must
As witness to changing seasons
Yet to come,
While, unmindful, the river wends its way
Toward open sea.

RIVERS AND OTHER PLACES I'VE BEEN

How pleasant by the river be
To sit on mossy banks and dream
As currents flow by easily
And carry tender thoughts downstream.

What next does call at river's bend?
A new adventure beckoning?
I cannot tell as yet, my friend.
I'll wait until the reckoning.