River Grass at Summer’s End
Amazing poetry by a talented writer.
Seedlings in spring,
tall grasses in summer sun,
we scan life on the lapping currents
at our river’s edge.
Clinging to trees, cicadas call out an endless shrill.
Water striders mate and die. Widow Skimmers dance
on the waves. A turtle basks on a dead limb
caught in a root wad along our bank. An eagle keeps watch
from a lofty sycamore perch.
Clouds darken the face of the sun. A kayak floats
downstream in shadows. A warm gust lifts and sways us
on the shore, and we wave at the paddler drifting by.
The paddler succumbs to rain. The wind stirs wakes as
an Asian Carp pounds into the boat. The beaver
makes it to shore first in the storm. The river bank is
summer’s bed of sand at our roots.
In the bluster of early autumn, we bear our seeds at water’s edge.
They scatter like startled bees…
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