Her Name is Elkhorn

The river's surface boils brilliantly beneath
The evening sun. So briefly picturesque,
It flows, unnoticed, plain and muddy brown,
A farmer's homely daughter, in the morning
And the afternoon, and I, not an admirer,
An aesthete, whose tastes gravitate toward
Swiftly moving, siltless streams, envision
Rapids, boulders, spray, a runway model
Wearing sequins, not the homespun girl
Here...until the sun's positioned right,
And she proves dazzling.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 106 times
Written on 2019-07-10 at 00:54

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text