Monday, July 09, 2007

The River


The river runs slowly on it's journey to the sea,
And the river remembers about you and me.
I told it my secrets, the good and the bad.
The river remembers the glad and the sad.
When life is all over and the tale has been told,
The river remembers the brave and the bold.
I told the river my hopes and my dreams,
And the river remembers what I wanted to be.
When my life's work is over and memories fade,
You can still hear about me in the riverside glade.

6 comments:

goatman said...

Rivers are a beautiful metaphor for life; or life is a beautiful metaphor for a river. I'm not sure which.
Pretty photo of your river.

Kathy said...

Beautiful!

Zareba said...

Thank you for your comments. This river runs through my soul and comforts me in ways I did not even imagine I needed comforting. Resting in the river's aura is resting in the arms of the Creator.

...Z

Margie said...

Such a beautiful poem about your beautiful river!

Thanks Z!

jim said...

Love the poem Zareba, yes, water is like that, and so is the flow, great writing girl.

Don Iannone said...

Very beautiful, Z. Love this.