Some days it feels like the river stones
Are bare and exposed like dry bones
Other days the rushing river flows
And the world is regaled by the melody it soughs
Waters pour across the horizons
Meeting my gaze and my dry tongue
When I remain parched, I curse the sun
The river is faithful, though, and the curse is undone
Who was I to shake my damning fist
Life does not flow to a man’s tryst
Reminders are found in seaside mist
So I count it a blessing to be flush and sun-kissed
This life is not mine to overthrow
I learn everything I don’t know
Wisdom revealed in time apropos
By means and manners the world has the choice to bestow
Photo by Benjamin Suter on Unsplash
December Rose 
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