The River

Time, the winding river, runs to the eternal sea
Leaves us stranded on its banks as on through all it flows
It sweeps away what was not and what is meant to be
And none can dam its waters as ever on it goes.

It brings the look of wonder to each new child’s face
It sets the heart a-racing in a lover’s brimming breast
It carries those who fight so hard to win in the rat race
It brings the poet inspiration in moments blessed.

I sit beside the river and I record all I see
The highs and lows, smiles and tears, the joy and the pain
I then paint word pictures, how those moments seem to me
As the river brings them by, then takes them off again.

There is so much it brings me that I can only try.
So lay my pen beside me when the river’s run me dry.

E.M. Swift-Hook