Lawrence Beck Poems
Miles west of Ellensburg, the north fork
Of a river, named Teanaway, goes
Burbling across brown-colored,
Mossy rocks. A meadow spreads
On either side. I've not been there
For fifty years. I'd go back now
To feel the sun, to hear the sound
Of water flowing, willows rising
Overhead, but I won't return
By myself. I'll wait until she
Reappears, and says she'll come
You know all the cliches of erosion.
Hills go flat. Cliffs fall into the sea.
Months have passed
And my love hasn't faded.
Would you like to go to lunch with me?
I remember when we were together.
I was happy. Surely you could see.
Now, I pine