The River Bed

April 10, 2011
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The river bed
is fully alive.
I rest my head,
where the reeds grow nearby.

A sweet swallow,
and a little blue jay,
swoop to the hollows,
with a loving sway.

Green leaves,
near a sky turning white.
There's buzzing of working bees,
but they have no time to fight.

The wood-land creatures,
all sniffed and snuffed,
all rest their heads,
as the moon rises up.

The glow of the moon,
sets a chilly afternoon.
The lone wolf howls,
as the old leader rebounds.

Long, lush grass
sways with the night time wind.
The chill down my spine,
is from the relaxation as I unwind.

A class of minnow,
swim into the dark forest.
There's the ripple of water
from a drop of something smaller.

The sting of the rain
runs down my skin.
I hush it all away,
as the river grows thin.

The rain ceases,
as if by magic.
The thin water slivers over rocks,
as they make their way through ground creases.

Soon the wind washes away,
as if water in a drain.
The fish swim back,
and the bears ready an attack.

A gentle, summer breeze
flashes by.
I breathe in it's scent,
as soft and gentle as a lullaby.

I swoon with the wind,
from where I rest my head.
For I am near
the river bed.

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