The Trout

What comes to pass the waning moon And flits away with morning breeze To carry that we thought were free Beyond the tree-tops, over yonder Mountains built to make us wonder Dunes of sand to keep us asunder

The mayflies hug the rapid streams Chained to the change for which they yearn Shadows of depths with rainbow sheen The trout sits low and waits its turn

Beyond is where what was is dust In morning light and rooster’s cry A wilting violet browns and dies Upon a creek that softy maunders The morning breeze happened to ponder And took it with a could-be thunder

Flash of rainbow strikes sharp and clear Out and back into the shadowy creek Its veil of a future, graying and austere Gives way to a seemingly fearful mystique

The breeze blows strong but is not seen The sun shines on and stretches further For us to scream of convenient murder As what we believe we can impugn What’s been taken from us all too soon To come to pass the waning moon

#Classof21 #Poems #Writing #Spring2020Edition