Slow River Waltz
Come and walk with me down by the river
where it’s winding its way from the town,
where it whispers of woodland and pasture,
and it wants us to follow it down
to the bridge where the brambles are growing,
to the track where the steam-trains once sang,
to the hedgerow that edges the meadows,
to the tree where the rope-swing still hangs.
Let us drift our way down to the weir
where the silkweed lets down its green hair,
to the pool where our childhoods are swimming.
Come and rest for a while with me there.
by Matt Quinn
Editor’s Note: Sometimes we just need a poem that will bring us a little bit of ease.
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