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| River of Words |
| 05.13.04 (11:59 am) [edit] |
Some days it is a roar
A mighty Niagra, rushing mightily
Crashing, tumbling and surging
Shaping the rocks below
Other days it is a brook
Babbling and sparkling in the sun
Flowing peacefully through a glade
With barely a gurgle
Today I listen in vain for a trickle
The rocks are left dry
A sun-bleached vacant arroyo
Awaiting the next flood
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