The Afternoon River

The light is golden, The water spills and gushes over the ruined brick wall, Its onetime captor. The air is warm, yet not burning, The warmth of the hearth. The air is alive with the idylls of the birds, Spiced with the aroma of sage, As the sun makes its lazy way West, Beyond the high, rocky hills. Onward goes the river, As it slows to enjoy the idle afternoon, Between sandy banks lined with old, gnarled oaks, Scowling at the river's apathy as it goes along its sleepy way. All too soon, the sun closes its great eye, A chill descends upon the old brick wall, The night wraps the land in its cold embrace, this day never to return again, As surely as the hands which laid the bricks, In ages past.