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From a pond obscured by leafy plants, a quiet river flows.
Its source lies just outside my view; where it ends, I cannot know.
Its flow, once mighty, is losing strength and withering to none.
The tiny rocks seem monolithic as they bask in the sun.
Dark weeds, gray rocks, brown dirt below gray birds that dip and soar
Over the intermittent flecks of dying flowers on the shore.
The stream that once was full of life, with promise ‘round the bend,
The river that once seemed immortal, now knows its days will end.
I wish that it could flow forever, but someday it will dry.
I hope to be there at that time to watch the immortal die.
To find its roots? A fruitless task. But someday I will try
To trace its winding history like a rainbow across the sky.
For as long as I remember where that river used to be,
It will remain forever immortal within my memory.

Copyright 2000 James Rioux.