The River Poem by prat kmr

The River



step in with your feet twice, thrice a fourth and a fifth time,
I flow only when they open the gates,
the winds are neither gentler nor furious
when they pass by like creaky engines....
Now fill me with your sins dear sinners,
Before the last epic is burnt and words dissemble.

The River
Saturday, February 20, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: nature
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