Sunday, March 25, 2012

River Dog

She stood on the unturned rocks
and paddled between lilies,
huffing each breath to expel
the water coming up from underneath.

Sycamore leaves piled down,
flaking like their mottled bark,
green and white, marbled
like her blue merle coat
shedding droplets down.

Cannonball-sized bodies
folded firmly in the rush,
the rapids telling stories
as she lingered in an eddy.

Boldly she dipped her head and paws
to hear the current speak,
a murmured secret carried

through, the yarning ocean's deep.

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About Me

All poetry is supposed to be instructive but in an unnoticeable manner; it is supposed to make us aware of what it would be valuable to instruct ourselves in; we must deduce the lesson on our own, just as with life. -Goethe