I stood, on the bank of the barren river felt the water running beneath my feet.
My clothes stuck to dew, emanating from my pores.
The river flow held the story already told.
And I wondered:
Could I stand in the same river twice?
The one that never stopped running,
Sourced from wicked springs,
No, I walked to where the river banks where fertile.
This river seemed easier, calmer and more generous.
And I knew:
This was not the same river.
There were hollows,
Where ugliness of force,
Did not exist,
And never did.
The journey was not always planned,
But with the help of time,
It was fascinating,
And I was thankful,
For one more time.
– L.J. Lenehan –