Still Rocking, Old Hag

If it's life you're after — real life, the history of life, the ebb of life, the flow of life — the river is the place. - Thoreau

as aged, overburdened, shouldered banks sag

the sullen river relaxes and takes a breather as recent rains wave a white flag

continuing on its well-traveled path, albeit it slower, with an eternal zig-zag

its current easing to a contented meander

holding on to dark, rippling, telling candor

as it lets go of some of spring's lionlike dander

here and there an occasional whitecap rising up where tired water passes over a curious, smoothed rock

writing 'kilroy was here' in liquid chalk

toting a lighter but still heavy bag

just enough to keep drawing the curious while continuing to brag

sometimes prolix, other times florid

like a shawl-wearing, wrinkled but still rocking, old hag

Author's Note

"Rivers must have been the guides which conducted the footsteps of the first travelers. They are the constant lure, when they flow by our doors, to distant enterprise and adventure, and, by a natural impulse, the dwellers on their banks will at length accompany their currents to the lowlands of the globe, or explore at their invitation the interior of continents." - Thoreau