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Regattas at Argenteuil, by Claude Monet
Barb Clarke

River’s Edge

Not a word heard
As the river flows
Over rock, around
Banks that lie
Waiting for visitors.
 
The grey sky hovers
Closely, as yesterday
Is no more.
Tomorrow is yet
To be born.
 
I sit on the river’s edge
And gaze at the horizon,
Waiting for a sign,
A guide.
 
The sky becomes wide,
Clouds touched by sunset
Turn pink and float
Weightless, on the air.
 
Soon it is dark,
A crescent moon
Peeks out and beckons
With its beam.
I follow its stream,
Along the river’s edge.

Published by e-Fiction India. 4-2016.

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