Sometimes the river flows back home
And sometimes I take the long way
The go around
Those times when the current
Skims too close to my heart
Those laden waters
Too ready to sweep me along
The peach tree on the hill
Still blossoms with the hope
From little hands
That rooted it with grownup plan
That tree speaks fluently
Of love and loss
And when it’s pink with Spring
I hear the voices piping
Whistling the branches
Of the Beech
Traipsing wall and wood
Barefoot expeditions
Forest forts and fairy places
And every innocence of childhood
I see them clear as shadow
Darting in and out of memory
They scramble
Brook and boulder
Ripple every sandy shallow
And conquer
True and valiantly 
The reckless wandering
Of the river that brings me back



Sara Mathews     July 2019