 |
| MAXIMIZE PAGE FOR VIEWING |
| My River Flowing past through banks of green the nicest river ever seen travels by my eyes each day. I watch it slowly drift away. Much like a road, there is a route that leads it home without a doubt. Rivers travel far from sight, cascading through long day and night. But my share is always here and will never disappear. It comforts in my times of need... Tranquillity on which to feed. In dark of night while others dream, I listen to my river stream. And as it passes by this place, I drift away in soft embrace. |
| THE POET SPEAKS: For everyone there must be a favorite river or stream. Mine was the Kankakee River in Illinois. Wider than the pictured river above, it froze solid in the cold midwest winters, breaking up in the spring, piling up giant ice-ogres along its banks. But once the water became dammed up at the low road bridge, flooding our riverside community...it flowed fast and steady past my bedroom window. That is where MY RIVER came from. |
 |
 |
|
 |
 |
 |