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     By Debi Greenberg


Indian filled canoes,

gliding around the river's bend

colors of orange, red and green

hanging by what seems to be just a thread.

Serene though they are, they know not dread.

Newness of life! 

Each passing breath changing.

The gazelles swiftly, gracefully enduring.

Sand crystals drifting down the glass of hour.

Secure and quiet resting places soon to unfold.

Now nearing! The season of change.

Quivering, though not cold.

Knowing the end is now so near.

but fear not,

for the heavens will now open

out-stretched arms greeting each breath of old

Golden brick-layered pathways,

Willow branches humbly swaying,

the season, now over

nay, tis the dawn of a new day.

 

 

 

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