Georgia Rudolph

The River

Ripples

Like a field of grass

And a breeze blows through

Almost as if the wind itself

Is sighing.

Two rocks

Stand silent

And far apart

But every now and then

One will shyly

Steal a glance

At the other.

And then,

A flock of rapidly beating wings

Wildly calling

And only just taking off

Southward.


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Copyright © 2011 by The Redwing's Nest and the individual writers and artists.