On the Edge of Bow River

On the edge of Bow Valley River, Where waterfall pours on stones, I stand, a witness to nature’s symphony, As the world unfolds before me. On the other side of the river, Where solitude finds its home, The meadowlark sings its first song, Bursting forth from the rocky mountains. The mountain stands, still matted, Scarred by Canada’s relentless snow, But amidst the scars, a resilient spirit, Emerges with green stems, sprouting anew. After a long battle with white death, The land awakens from its frozen slumber, And the meadowlark’s song resonates, A testament to life’s enduring wonder. Loud and longing, the bird calls out, In search of a mate to share its flight, But to me, the song carries a deeper meaning, A beginning when wild roses bloom. In the harsh cold land of Canada, Where beauty fights against the odds, The meadowlark’s melody echoes hope, As petals of wild roses grace the ground. Yet, as the bird launches another call, Pouring its soul into the wilderness, I find myself wondering, pondering, Who will answer its heartfelt plea? Will there be a response from across the river, A symphony of harmony and love, Or will the echoes fade into the silence, Leaving the meadowlark’s longing unanswered? On the edge of Bow Valley river, I stand, in awe of nature’s grandeur, And I realize that the song, the call, Is a reminder of our own longing for connection.