The River
Beneath the bonds of the body
Running free, without boundaries or frame
Lies a living mighty river
A river by a different name
It's teeming with strength and goodness
Carrying fresh water to cool fevered brow
Quenching eternal thirst
Washing the dirtied plow
This life has many furrows
Each made by choice or chance
The seeds we hold to plant
May be ruled by circumstance
This ever-flowing river
May rise beyond its banks
To flood the arid fields of wanting
Causing the seeds to sprout, in thanks
Other times there may be plenty
Rain too much, too hard, too soon
But this moving, rippling river
Rocks craters, mimicking the moon
There is a beautiful balance
In time, perfection wins its due
For in seasons, planting, and harvest
The River runs silent and true.
Poetry by Kathy Lockhart
Read 1132 times
Editors' choiceWritten on 2016-11-06 at 02:43
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Editorial Team |
|
Phyllis J. Rhodes |
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shells |
|
Christopher Fernie |
|
Bibek |
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one trick pony |
