memory of a river

Little daughter drop of a bigger Mrs. Drop

exclaimed in sheer joy one day

as she held the family album 

of Mrs. May.

Mother dear where do all these other 

of our kind now bear

for I see now it's only you and me.

Before we succumb dear child

hear it, our story of a river wild

flowed in all colors of verdure and azure.

Fewer were the people few were their greeds

few were their wants few to us entreats.

Satan landed on their senses

they devoured the river of it's purity and sanity.

All of our kind choked and died

a slow and painful death

full of muck of greed and and wrath.

the two of us may not be there

by tomorrow noon

so hearken carefully if I leave soon

then keep catching your breath may be you survive 

under deep sand of drying riverside.

I wish to bless, you may bring that life 

of the gushing waters carefree and wild.