Cold River Run
Cold river run, November morn,
past village sleeping, day yet born.
Dark, murky waters pass the quay
absorb each sound along the way.
An ice-cold flow that numbs like death.
Those passing see white, misty breath.
Though laced with ice its soul must flow
to seek out deltas wide and slow.
Late fall has seen harsh wind and flake.
Cold river knows it's autumn's wake.
It drifts past field and icy glen,
and speaks the season's last, 'amen.'
Long past our village, down its course,
cold river warms without remorse.
It knows new waters meld upstream,
to speak November's frigid theme.
Cold River Run
11-15-14
Copyright © Brian Baumgarn | Year Posted 2015
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment