The Evening Blue

The river pours and fjords its way,
bursting over seams in the glade,
calling bramble and brash to play
before exhaling in cascade.

Where it cannot push, it dances,
when it cannot burrow, it leaps.
Determinedly, it advances
as it descends the mountain steep.

And paused there in the evening blue
I can see now that I was wrong.
I'm not the river running through
but the earth that creates the song.

Poetry From the River

If there was nothing else to write about, I could probably fill a whole book with poetry about rivers. I find on the hikes or climbs where I walk by one, a few lines immediately spring to mind—like its flow over the earth is sending a message. What can I say. I love me a good river.

If you like reading poetry inspired by nature, I hope you’ll check out some of my other poems at In Verse, and let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!