There was this river I once knew,
So beautiful was its nightly glow,
But sometimes I would walk past,
But sometimes I would not pass,
And at times the river flooded,
So much pavements were sodded,
Yet someone would always wander,
Yet never knowing what to ponder,
A life so still and so fragile,
Can only be so quiet or agile,
Fear for what waits in me brought,
Movements quick to night ere fought,
Here a wind guides me way through,
But no light to trace me to and fro,
So when I wonder through the night,
My grace in night is our only light;
So sweet it is that I sit amidst,
To tear myself from world to bits,
Shall write the first of my last,
The story of a man’s broken fast
Now dwindles in the bridge of hue,
Imbued by all that was never new.

Nature, Nocturnal, Poetry, Works
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