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This River
 
To see the river wind downhills
like a serpent of grey mist
and the lavender farm
at the mountain's toes
where the main stream takes a twist.
Poplar grove of green
growing in between
paddocks of fresh ploughed earth.
In this place I toil
I can smell the soil...
how I love this land of my birth.


This river is friend
and this river is foe;
it can make a man
or break a man
in one fell blow.

It was this time last year, Good Friday;
this valley was under water.
The river rose 'til it burst its banks
and I lost my precious daughter.
Perhaps I'll go...
but I can't you know.
I want to
and I ought to
though this river is friend.








By cherryk

© 2018 cherryk (All rights reserved)

 

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This Poem is part of a Challenge: - Simplicity SFITB with Pam (whispermoon) read challenge page for rules, info, and REQUIRED phrase (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - Simplicity SFITB with Pam (whispermoon) read challenge page for rules, info, and REQUIRED phrase (challenge has been closed)


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