The Silent River - Poem by Angela Wybrow
The river usually runs in such a great rush,
But, today, it is still, and there is only hush.
I glance over at it, in the darkness, as I pass:
I see the river’s surface is as smooth as glass.
It’s like the river itself is feeling the great grief,
Of losing someone, whose time on earth was brief.
It appears to be grieving for its long time neighbour,
Who, for many years, in the nearby store, did labour.
Just like people, it stands in silence, to show its respect,
And its many thoughts and feelings, it wants to collect.
No more will the river, running through this restful place,
See its neighbour with her eternally happy and smiling face.
From the river, to be heard, there isn’t a single sound:
Night time has fallen, so no ducks or swans are around.
Never before, can I recall the river being so totally still;
It’s as though it has decided to stop of its own free will.
From what I can see, and this may sound just a little bit mad,
The river, just like its neighbour’s family and friends, is sad.
It isn’t in the mood to chatter cheerfully, to dance, or to run;
Now is its time of remembrance: not a time for it to have fun.
Soon, it will continue on its journey, but it will remember,
The loss of this lovely lady, on the tenth day of December.
As it journeys onwards, its surface will shimmer and shake,
And, with it, precious memories of its neighbour, it will take.
(In memory of Debbie Baptiste)
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