And Heaven Weeps

In the dance of life the river cries its soul, From the teardrops collecting in mountainous ravines, To the icy floes which melt on sunless days, What falls from heaven in folded sheets of misting rain, Wrests from the river its bitter pain. The seasons pass as the aged bark of a deadening tree, With the memories of a lonely stalk against the grain, The heart of the river begins to flow and echoes down below, Every droplet weary of the long winding pathway, And in heaven the clouds gather to bring a refreshing rain. At the bank of the river flow its hopes and dreams, Of what could have been, Of what will be, Every travesty cast upon the waters, And the rainfall sent by heaven fills the river anew. Through every storm and every passing season, Comes a swelling of memories which rise to the surface, But the heart of the river must remain pure, For every turbulent mile of its distance was known, And heaven weeps for its mightiest rivers.