River
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The river started high in the mountain from melting snow and rain,
It flowed downhill for hundreds of miles over stones and around rocks;
Merging with streams, it became wild, meandering past green forests,
Fast flowing pristine water, foaming white water rapids, so dangerous.
Past rugged terrain and woods lovely, dark and fathomless,
With shorelines of foliage and fallen trees decaying;
And in lagoons green and mossy, the river rested; waiting,
Then surged forth, under bridges, past homes to the ocean.
______________________
September 6, 2015
Verse
Written By Broken Wings
Concept - River
For the contest, Poem That Did Not Place And More, sponsor, Nette Onclaud
Sixth Place
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2015
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