Post by Ken Corbett on Feb 25, 2005 10:48:02 GMT -5
My dreams of late have been of gloom.
Once they were haunted by canyons cataract.
Now it's the logjams that unbidden loom
on blind turns and I've no chance to react.
On my dream river there is a magic place
where waters at last run free round the bend.
Where one can sense there lurks no trace
of log jams nor alders with which to contend.
The stream is at last barely wide enough
to cradle my boat on its sinuous flow.
From here on I see round the side enough
on the quick turns where dark waters go.
It's not the rocks and the drops that I fear.
They will always be there, on that rest assured.
May the rocks and the drops ever re-appear
in flowing symphony, no sweeter music heard.
It's the jagged barbs of fallen tree's branch
that bob and quiver in unflinching dread
and reach out with tips both sharp and blanch
to rip me to bloody shreds, thread by thread.
Ken
Once they were haunted by canyons cataract.
Now it's the logjams that unbidden loom
on blind turns and I've no chance to react.
On my dream river there is a magic place
where waters at last run free round the bend.
Where one can sense there lurks no trace
of log jams nor alders with which to contend.
The stream is at last barely wide enough
to cradle my boat on its sinuous flow.
From here on I see round the side enough
on the quick turns where dark waters go.
It's not the rocks and the drops that I fear.
They will always be there, on that rest assured.
May the rocks and the drops ever re-appear
in flowing symphony, no sweeter music heard.
It's the jagged barbs of fallen tree's branch
that bob and quiver in unflinching dread
and reach out with tips both sharp and blanch
to rip me to bloody shreds, thread by thread.
Ken
