The Gorge


The Gorge

What flow the river flows

Glow the sun glows

Snow melts and grass grows

It’s true, the time slows

And it’s only God that knows

The discharge of my life,

My highs and lows

The breeze tingles as it blows

Simultaneously waking

as the bird crows

End of the trip—the van—it tows

Away our dirty clothes

My favorite weekend ends with prose.

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