Whitewater River ---Of Coachella Valley--

The August sun does not reach
the shadows of the old mesquite
as it grows in the river bed.
The soft dry sand, the sultry heat
invites the visitor to sleep.
Thunder in the mountains
rumbling through the hills
white water washes the boulders down
The mesquite is gone, scattered.
A seed pod rests in damp sand.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2013

Poem

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Posey Avatar
May 21, 2013 at 8:58 PM
Nature in a battle with itself is a sight to behold.... Well done. ..... Jake
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