The River Flow
Sitting at the table
Pensive, her pen in her mouth
Her mind searching a fable
To express her thoughts.
Scattered around her world
Sometimes so fruitful and bright
And sometimes so barren
The thinning waters going dry.
Her river runs to the edge
Pouring out like a cascade
Over a sharp, rocky ledge
Speeding down a mountain's facade.
Excited to reach out far
Watering others' worlds
With her sanctified nectar
Quenching parched berths.
Yet at times the river recedes
And the cascade is no more
No moisture fills the air sweet
Just a silent prayer that implores.
Wishing to quieten the voices
Objecting to her taking a rest
Hiding away from the forces
That eat at her raspy chest.
And then the Master enters
The scene and intervenes
In His own special manner
And the rains fall over her spleen.
Sitting, thoughtful, at her table
Her mind receives moisture
Puts her pen upon the paper
And writes of a new adventure.
By CarolineCecile
Copyright © 03.22.10
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