The River
A canal, far away,
was built many years ago
for the ships' passage
between two oceans.
A river, near me, slowly
flows, floats the barges.
And, years ago,
this dove- colored river
was open for the wars.
Today, distant lights
on the river are a moon's
glow, and one or two
are stars, that poke the dusk
through the hush of falling snow,
to the Summer warmth
of a shelter, where
onyx tinctured mares have wings,
to fly through at night.
Their snow-white wings
are soft as flour, and their hooves
are as magical
as the Ruby Shoes
in the dream.They tear through, weave
tatters into fear.
They tat a net,
with the silky gleam of tinsel,
to catch the diamonds
that prick the sky, cut
into an artist's canvas,
who paints this nightmare..
the very edge of 'morn
spills cream hues, lifts up a gold
rose. The river sparkles.
Copyright © Jennifer Cahill | Year Posted 2020
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