Over The River Crossing Poem by James McLain

Stones as once are skipped
by they whom ride are laid upon
and dark the swan the flame.

Their long necks the trees
bushes cut the feathers trail
scissors cut a stream,
where rivers flow, the sea is
dark tonight, I know.

The moon is flat concave
one crack upon it's face is clear
the tears of they,
come hurry leaves are furry
and the bumpy hill won't talk.

Hollow stones they rattle off against
the boat
the oarsmans blind
you can not hear
the wind as rocky shoals approach.

There is silence as the eyes of all
whom came before
that wait to leave the way you came
but live to die
and coming in away are sailing
coming out some come once more.