Best Freshet Poems

A death-dance, 
a horse swept away.
Hooves flash and slap
the frothing pitch.
Neck cranked tight,
in the cascading 
white-waters.
Terrible to behold.

A large chunk of tree,
just a large log
branches mimicking
thrashing legs.
Not a real horse in the act
of being swept away.
But terror is real
even as an illusion.

My mind is still
looking...

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Meet me at the freshet
   Where there is a gathering -
A swath of pilgrims wait
   For to find eternity -

Where there flows an old hope
   And God's love is evergreen -
Where His deeds are retold
   Of which...

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