Cross the River

It’s a short walk to the river From the village of my birth, From the place of my conception And my home, for what it’s worth. Just a short walk made each morning, A tradition that survives, As my gently lowing cattle Sing the purpose of their lives. I could blame it on a promise Worth a basketful of salt, But the path I had to travel Wasn’t anybody’s fault. Let the children chase the dustman Till the season of the flood. I may wear the mask of wisdom, But I’m only flesh and blood. There’s a clearing in the forest Where the dogs can smell the rain, Where they bark like so much thunder At the twilight’s dimming flame. From my bed of leaves and branches I shall reach up toward the sky And I’ll drag the sun down with me In the breath before I die. Cross the river. Let me rest beneath the trees Across the river Where the spirits of our fathers Keep their hearts. When one dream ends, Another starts.