Swirling roundly, river flow,
by cobbled banks
and marshy shores,
racing like the clouds
in a cold gray wind;
Standing windblown in the eddies
at your swollen rim,
reeds and swamp grass lean,
beaten by the spray of
foam boats rolling by;
Running moody, River talk
to fish laid on the banks, and
wild geese darting in the gray;
Under wharves and bridges, 'round
small boats backing as
you roll along;
Gripping frothy waves with
curling fingers ride
dying leaves, drifting
from the marsh stream in a circle
then into your center stream;
Dark waters, run along
with your booty on your heaving back,
squawking as you rumble, but faintly
for the noise you make:
Festive turkeys stolen from the farm,
bucking boxes from the pier, and
trees you've bitten off with
grinding teeth of thunder;
Happy am I, with
my net ashore, and
my dinghy on the wharf, and
my pantry filled for winter feasts:
Godspeed, Autumn River!
