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Through my memory there flows a river, Reflecting the soft untamed moon of silver. Upon its banks lies the footstair to a tower. It calms the snarling beast in the moonlit hour. The breeze the soft caress on the skin. Here, time’s degradation has never been, And the wilderness creatures are all fully tame: Once having been here you’ll not leave the same. Too few are these times—though many— All my brothers and sisters are here: my Family. We all share inner strength—nothing less— And eternal freedom few else possess. When one ventures near one discovers We’re a fortunate few of free peaceful lovers. We love life and we love one another, And we’d trade our lives with none other. The purity of freedom, like mist above the waters, To life ever on, Father Time’s sons and daughters. The moonlight, the fellowship, the warm summer night . . . But e’er the river flows as time dims our sight. The man sits, and he thinks, and moves forward as best as can, But alas, I see naught but the shadow of the once young man. Perhaps on the eve of some blissful day, a last dip of the oar, And with his friends on the far shore he’ll forever moor. |
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Originally published as a collection of songs entitled: Onerous Musicalis (A Collection of Bothersome Musical Soirées). Copyright © 1995 Eric Knickerbocker. All rights reserved. | Next Poem  |
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