The River Poem by Kevin Cowdall

From time to time
on such still, calm days
a whisper of breeze
stirs the water like an arpeggio.

A forlorn limb of timber floats by,
caught in becalmed isolation,
while a skittish duck warily
skirts this benign intruder.

A fisherman's cast line
cuts the water like a razor slash -
a violation that rips a fish from the womb
with a stark, brutal suddenness.

Mayflies hover in fleeting couplings
above the silk-shimmering surface
as the languid waters drift idly on.
It is a constant, yet ever-changing, tapestry.