The trees turn from oak to pine.
It's in the pine one can find the river's
Start. The cold crystal shivers
On for miles,
Serpentine clear blue smiles,
One would never think to believe
The water won't relieve
Slightest or worst.
Though many will casually claim
Not to know why, I won't do the same
As liars shying from recollections
Likely to cause gangrenous infections.
In the fall before the snow
The starving world fed the gods
Children by the dozen. The odds
They hoped to improve
Let them remove
Every ounce of guilt over
Drowning babies for four leaf clover --
Good luck on sale.
Does this price beat retail?
Of course, or no one would pay
One to three kids a day.
And don't scoff.
The river at them all, carried the bodies off,
And none starved all winter long.
Sprung out the other side strong.
Life went on,
Blessed by divinity, so on and so on,
But the river simply...
It's not just in our heads.
The river tastes like the dead.
It dries instead of drenches,
No thirst it ever quenches;
Made of rippling waves
Sometimes conjuring faces
Striking as maces
Shattering bone at a glance
To the point none even chance
In the watery host.
Yet everyone thirsty,
We avoid the river.