#Poem The river has picked out the soft earth

The river has picked out the soft earth
and set its own path
It curves around the chalk hillside and then heads north
toward Oakford, the chief village of the lowland regions
I find the pine forest more conducive to my needs
a long day of travelling rewarded with a simple meal of rice and chives

(it is by their actions that the future shall be shaped)

I feel safe here
humming to myself the songs of my homeland
A gentle quietness settles as evening comes closer

(treachery is not masked by misuse of power)

I miss the ease of my own bed
and my companions in dreams
their warmth and love
but this night will be good
this solitude
far away from where the marketplace crowds bay and howl

(these are the ones who kneel to form a pyramid
and scramble to fill the lower ranks)

The old songs go round and round
back to the meadows
where we’d gather to dance
a procession in costume

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