The River

December 14, 2007
The River’s water

Flows pristine,

Men feed the machine,

With blood sanguine.

The River feeds a fertile glebe,

The earthy sieve of every dream,

Of whose light shall never be seen,

Of whose might man shall never glean,

And the River, with water so pure, so clean,

Is broken only to foreshadow the death of men,

So mean, so shallow.

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