The River.

By yonder towering boulder-studded wall,
Between those cliffs that ever chafe and curb,
This snow-born river hurried to the sea
Long centuries before our fathers came.
In ceaseless turmoil, striving to be free,
It hath but laid itself in deeper thrall
To earth, that seeks its spirit to entame.

In ages gone with louder voice it roared,
And seaward rushing ever mightier grew;
Those moss-touched rocks were like sea-pebbles strewn
Along its course. And now are left enthroned
In peace above the waters. There immune
From yellow turbid floods, but scarred and scored.
They tell Time's children how the waters moaned.

—Piri.

21/7/11