The River's Dream

The river dreamed.
Upon the tips of her fingers, in the hush of evening,
she cradled unrest within folded fear.
Hidden in the heavy breath of time,
she searched for her roots.
She guarded the moon from illusion,
while wearing the veil of transience and waiting.
She carried the fragrance of freshly cut grass,
and at dusk she called upon the stars
to light her way toward eternity.
She is the one.
She dreams of vast and wondrous journeys;
the scents of heaven lead her on.
She sought the paths that reach the great sea—
her destined haven, she would say.
Still she breathed the fragrance of her fields,
of mown grass and the lonely wildflower.
Of that golden meadow
which, at dawn, awakens in radiance,
bright with its tiny blossoms, tinted gold and blue.
The river whispered:
"Mother, keep me safe,
lest I fall asleep in a summer evening."
With her murmuring waters she sailed,
bearing her very being upon the waves,
the memory of childhood voyages
and her mother's smile.
Through the night she journeys;
the moon's shadow guides her through the dark,
and when morning begins to break,
she will return to the land where she belongs.
For the river is humanity itself—
filled with verses and unrest.
It is a kingdom beyond time,
born from the womb of the earth,
only to disappear within the eternal embrace
of the great blue sea.