The Gorge
What flow the river flows
Glow the sun glows
Snow melts and grass grows
It’s true, the time slows
And it’s only God that knows
The discharge of my life,
My highs and lows
The breeze tingles as it blows
Simultaneously waking
as the bird crows
End of the trip—the van—it tows
Away our dirty clothes
My favorite weekend ends with prose.
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