North Fork

Miles west of Ellensburg, the north fork
Of a river, named Teanaway, goes
Burbling across brown-colored,
Mossy rocks. A meadow spreads
On either side. I've not been there
For fifty years. I'd go back now
To feel the sun, to hear the sound
Of water flowing, willows rising
Overhead, but I won't return
By myself. I'll wait until she
Reappears, and says she'll come
With me.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 73 times
Written on 2016-04-14 at 00:55

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