adventures in dysthymia

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Rivers, a poem

Rivers

We flow through deserts of time, you and I,
rivers destined for an unseen sea.

These banks are too high for any flood,
rage though we might between them.

One day, you will know me as the rain,
remembering its way home.

Stephen Brooke ©2017

written in a sijo-like form

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