River--Revised
There is a river just beyond my land’s end.
It meets a deluge of challenges on its way.
It crashes into boulders at a pending bend.
And then it quiets where trout seek their prey.
But the tranquility lasts for only a dozen feet
Then the river drops to gush an angry roar.
Logs from splintered trees it is forced to greet.
Still it continues undeterred, just as before.
It is the victim of trash-disposing folk
Who assault it with refuse of every type.
They care not if they make the river choke
Filling it wantonly with cans, bottles, tripe.
En route to its miles-away destination
It will repeatedly confront obstacles diverse.
Its life’s course is a broken-up narration—
Things that seem bad are likely to get worse.
Thus it is that our own life’s downhill course
Is oft inundated with what the river endures.
For there is in mortality a free-flowing force
That nature and its abuse unfailingly assures.
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