Poetry

Monday 11 November 2019

The river with its tongue

The river with its tongue so cold
Speaks in slow vowels rolled
The bridge with its mouth bowed
Swallows all that it is told
And the bank side buildings' walls
Listen with ears numbed to stone

Strange gases emit and drift
Along the surface water sunlit
And race at faster speeds yet
Than the river boat captains can bet

Like a substance unknown to man
This life force moves with a mysterious plan
When asked who will understand
It answers only that women can

Yet lions guard the gates of freedom
For some things of stone may still have reason
And ideals of ancestors long dead bones
Resonate with the striding feet of tourist season

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