It’s a great river, pushing currents
Grinding out paths where flow and tides
Gain strength, rising then cresting back
Working the heart, gaining speed
Unable to stop, the clock its motion
Simply fights in silence.
Youth escapes from bronzed summer skin,
Uncombed hair,
footprints thought to last,
Fade regardless of prayers,
tears or anger.
The river pulls without respect.
Roger Singer 