Appalachian

Done rumbling,

  soon asleep,

  cold creatures

  breathe mumbling.

Wrinkled deep

  crag preachers

  hulk humbling.

Ancient steep

  stone features

  slow tumbling,

  downward creep.

My teachers

  are crumbling.

Rafters Ought Remember

This river has no rage,

Nor any mercy, in flood.

This river has no thirst,   

Nor appetite, in dead drought.

This river has no voice,

Song or roar, only a sound.

 

This river has no teeth

To mangle, but many stones.

This river has no sight,

Nor vanity, though it awes.

This river has no pride,

Nor dignity, but vast means.

This river has no guile,

Nor treason, but may deceive.

This river has no will,

Yet arrives, seldom delayed.

This river does not sculpt.

It shapes, devoid of design.

This river does not preach:

Hubris soon, humbly repents.

This river does not teach,

But tries us, ever testing.

This river does not think.

Rejoice! It would not be kind.

This river does not feel

Our paddles, pathetic strokes.

This river does not hear

Our profane, panted refrains.

This river is the rain.

Returning, falling again.