Poems ✍️

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Rivers, they speak to themselves at night
coursing in crooked stride, while keeping-
pace with the plight of a perfect full Moon
it's ominous beacon of silverish white
casting shadows as it crosses thru'-
billowings, from a witching storm...looming.
Oh! Rivers knows all about consequence.

Rivers, they adhere to the Storm Witch's howl
and, though they'll run by the eye of her wrath,
unlike the weaker brooks, streams and creeks,
the River understands negotiations path;
and, the Witch though ired by this, smiles,
for she respects the challenge... and tenacity.
Come tomorrow the River rides soft as rain.



FjR-MMXIX