I met the child of the river man
He told me stories of this land
Traced in the sand with silver hand
So patiently
The birds are heading east today
So Betty faced them when she prayed
Prayed for better days
But past the haze, she could not see
Father Michael hates the way the seasons change
There’s no time for his mind to rearrange
And he’s never quite ready for the rains
That seem to follow him
A young man on the riverbed
Once sang his songs but now lies dead
And passing minnows eat the thread
from his pillowcase
Biking back out to the sea
I hope that he will wait for me
For I have words to drift away
And the water craves the honesty
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