Near the Mountain, By the River

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: July 13, 2018

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Submitted: July 13, 2018

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Near the Mountain, By the River

 

By a road, and homeward, I have newly wandered out.

Gray, uneven clouds, in legion, vex this cold and hollow region.

in this dimness, ever cold,

singing stories never told,

Near the mountain – by the river, I have come without a shiver,

while the clouds come crackling through

what was once the welkin blue,

frothing, now, about the edges with this veil. The highest pledges,

(floating thick and dim above,

like a black and mottled dove)

They can make to me in going, is the comfortable unknowing.

Trails of sullen men salute

all they new, my ebon suit.

Labored is the sounding cannon. Now I'm lulled, so ever anon

with the tales I told you so

by the fire long ago.

Yes, Dad’s coming home – yes coming – yes Dad’s coming home – yes coming –

set the escort for these men

singing each the where and when

love for you kept breath in battle; hummed you o’er like softest rattle,

like the beaten earth, of you,

rung from out her vocal blue,

for I sang it the wherever. They shall know your name forever.

Now, this dimness, ever cold,

(singing stories never told)

Near the mountain – by the river – I have come to without shiver,

with new tales to tell to you,

darling girl, the whole night through,

of some tricky altercation, and the gift I kept my station

where the feat of fog has gone

marching with the men at dawn.

Yes, I’m coming home – while going – Yes, I’m coming home – while going

with me are these solemn men,

teared to see me home again.

 


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