|May 24th, 1998|
by David P. Salamone
Flowing softly from north to south,
Before our eyes you run,
Winding through New York's hills and valleys,
Waters sometimes still.
You pick up speed beyond the bend,
Your heartbeat at great tempo,
As you cruise with lack of care,
Over rocks and through wooded scenes.
Along your banks are places of shadows old,
Where you hide in silent contentment,
Stories yet left untold.
Silently sliding along this path,
Cool waters centuries old.
For us you stay in splendor,
Bearing gifts bountiful in color and sound,
Never asking for repayment,
For silent pleasure found.~ David P. Salamone
River Bed by Dave Motes
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