The river of dreams
Johnclarestokes
There is this river of which the man dreams
That someday he will paddle in the entirety
Knowing every bend of her native beauty
Just two in the canoe of long journey
The Old Town is outfitted and trimmed
Bending branch wood paddles for the two
Lean to tent and supplies generously secured
Nothing spared for the journey of the two
But this river of which he dreams doesn’t exist
The canoe but a dry stored upside down hull
Paddles dry rot from many years out of water
But constant in his dream the thought persists.
It’s what every old waterman longs for
That journey with the elusive love he lost
To return to the rivers source at any cost
There to dwell upon her shore for ever more.
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