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Time Is A River

Time is a river. We watch it go by,
A current event that our memories try.
But upstream it branches, again and again,
And which is the true course, is hard to know then.

And downstream the eddies, will hold you a tad,
Until you’ve forgotten, the purpose you had.
We all end up going, along with the flow,
Just checking out where all that stuff has to go.

It’s turbid, this water, with sediment laced,
Betoking the troubles and woes it has faced.
The end of its worries, released to the sea,
In final surrender, just like you and me.

So meantime we tarry, and ponder the way,
That all of these tears have arrived here today,
The clouds that have cried them, no longer are seen,
The sadness surrendered, just to make the grass green.

But laughter awakens the music and song,
And even the river, joins in chuckling along.
The birds pipe a melody, tender and sweet,
The wind plays the brushes, emphasizing each tweet.

And lifting our spirits, like kites on a string,
As we loll by this river, which was born in the Spring.
This river may carry, all of us to our fate,
But I’m going somewhere, before it’s too late.

I’ll float with the clouds, leave behind the kite’s string,
Mosey on up to Heaven, see what that journey brings.
I won’t ask no questions, I’ll just look around,
And when I return, I won’t say what I found.

You all have to answer, the questions you need,
For the form of your blossom, is the shape of your seed.
And the thing that you’ll find, will depend where you look,
I found lots of answers, over there in that brook.

NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . . . . April 11, 2005