A Knowing WayA Poem by PeteHe who hears the rippling of rivers in these degenerate days will not utterly despair. - Thoreau![]() at the clouded pinnacle of a grey day the world swollen and heavy i descend the steep bank by the edge of a winding, country roadthe carpeting mulch of decaying leaves and dampness softening my desperate, lumbering steps ducking under innocent branches treading on crisp, erstwhile sticks of yesteryear variously delayed by stern, prickly vines i scan left to right and back again for a path of least resistance not quite sure where i'm headed i hear the liquid drone of an obscure river off in the distance not fully comprehending why, i yearn to be in unconscious proximity close enough to crouch down and run thirsting fingers through flowing waters near enough to read the tea leaves of fluvial reflections at the surface a cordial breeze beckons softly through the barren, late-autumnal woods whispering repeatedly this way come if you will this way i am here draw near lay your burdens down with little left to say heart pounding and moral compass gone astray i arrive with a knowing way © 2022 PeteAuthor's Note
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3 Reviews Added on November 30, 2022 Last Updated on December 5, 2022 |


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