Daniel Larson Poet Rhyme

By River's Edge

Footprints by the river’s edge,
     leading close around the bend,
Leave behind the memories
     of young days that came to end.
Whispers on a morning’s breeze
     have sprung forth from river’s run,
They carry the promises
     of those times still yet to come.

Back upon the middle ground
     lost loves echo through the trees,
Yet far beyond windswept plains
     they are travelling with ease.
The pathway through meadows green
     calls to spirits needing rest,
It will lead to comfort zones
     as the sun sets in the west.

Suddenly through murky haze
     one can hear slow, beating drums,
They march out the changing guard
     that been rebuilding the slums.
Silence greets the fallen walls 
     in the darkness of the night;
Stain glass windows on the way
     hold out endless hope for light.

Open fields of trampled grain
     became playgrounds of the lost,
Not even the wisest men
     could begin to count that cost.
Now the distant falling rains
     wash away the ageing deals,
While judges turn their blind eyes
     to the long list of appeals.

Standing by the river’s edge,
     listening to the whispered breeze,
I can hear an ancient tongue
     begging for the Kingdom’s keys.
I’m not going anywhere
     in this burning midday sun;
I will wait upon the times
     which were promised still to come.

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