My river is weeping gaudy tears upon the worn sand banks, rutted with the heartbreak from a thousand days of rivulets formed by the ruthless backwash of a spring, ill spent. Tomorrow promises floods renewed and torrents of mindless splashing in the matte surface of mud-filled holes. No rainbows here, no golden beam, few rays of hope. I run with my river, I shower in the rain, I say "Pour it on me." as one day flows into the next, ...
Updated 04-07-2011 at 03:15 PM by RheaB
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