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Poems On / About RIVER  12/19/2014 7:36:23 AM
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The Rill From The Foot Of The Mountain

The rill from the foot of the mountain that joins the river to the sea
It has babbled on downhill forever by hedgerows in the high
It has witnessed the birth and death of millions of Seasons even before the first Human was born
In the upland wood where it flows through the birds sing at dawn of the morn.

The rill it is truly immortal something that will live forever more
Forever 'twill flow to the river that flows to the great ocean shore
To it there is not a time limit it is as old as father time
It has inspired the long dead poets to glorify it in their rhyme.

The rill from the foot of the mountain towards the river ripples along
And sometimes above it's quiet babble the dippers can be heard in song
The dark brown white breasted waterbirds of Human kind they do seem shy
By the water-way they were born and in the water-way they will die.

The rill from the foot of the mountain downhill to the big river flow
The ancestors of the upland farmers who lived by it centuries ago
In the old Village graveyard it flows by with the long departed they lay
As on for to join the big river it babbles on it's downhill way.
Francis Duggan

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School Memories

Born on the bank my school
Bathed in cool breeze of river Varaha
Fanned dry by coconut groves.
Blessing inside the premises
A seasoned ExamPillaiyar.
Commencement of assembly my voice to lead
Followed by the rest in increased volume
Litanies dispersing the air
Penned the pupils in respective classes
Class-rooms old and new and mine
Holding a Badam tree at its feet
Clothed full of caterpillars
And they creeping inside bit me for a year
Anyway to the bitten me
Flapped colourful wings my teachers
To fly up to catch the Rainbow

Flowed flooded river between home and school
Sharadha though otherwise calm then a gullible fool
Bridge was a round about way
Hasty Sharadha got drowned in great dismay
Pupils assembled for prayer
Then heard a screaming from the river
Sharadha's! Sent atonce the school the peon
Was Sharadha rescued from a mile on
A lesson for everybody
Ashamed Sharadha unable to look at anybody
Needn't have happened to a soft Sharadha
Shy and shivery was the real Sharadha
'Belated for the exam' was her fear
So did she get into the river
Unwilling the bridge-way chose the river-way
Wisdom then failed anyway
Hasty ventures may better be averted
Else may better be alerted
Rosy memories are sometimes thorny
Like Sharadha at times twinging me
Indira Renganathan

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The River Flows

The river flows and moss grows
And I dangle my feet in the water
The water is cold, but so is my heart
As I sit and just watch time goes by

No place I have to go, no place to be
Time has passed too fast, as fast as the river flows
Who else has sat here and felt this way
Felt pain in their heart and soul

They don't understand, did they ever?
All the hurt down deep in my soul
The leaves sway with the wind
And the chill sets in

I know I must leave, I don't know where
Guess I'll find my way down the road
With tears in my eyes and a broken heart
I'll find my way back to somewhere

The river flows on and the moss will keep growing
Till someone else sits here
And remembers things like I do
And wish I had them all back

I leave in the night, goodbye to the river and moss
May each persons who comes this way
Find a peace inside like I did but on the way
I'll always remember that the river flows on and the moss grows.

Written by Jo Carey

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The Hopkins River

Centuries before the black people to this Land came
An unknown Country that did not have a name
The river now known as the Hopkins through the scrublands did flow
And that is going back many centuries ago.

The dinosaurs came at the twilight of the day
For to slake their thirst at the quiet water-way
And though the dinosaurs from the World are forever gone
The old Hopkins river keeps babbling on.

Through the flat brown Countryside to Warrnambool to the sea
The Hopkins has flowed for century on century
Through places dry and stony and places remote
The river has inspired the artist and poet.

For to sketch and sing of it in decades gone by
The river that has never stopped flowing through Summer's warm and dry
And though the artist and poet now with the deceased lay
The Hopkins keeps babbling on night after day.

Through places dry and stony and places remote and brown
On down to the ocean near Warrnambool Town
And the Seasons may come and the Seasons may go
But the old Hopkins river forever will flow.
Francis Duggan

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Poems On / About RIVER