Hear me a moment spirit of the river
while I speak of grief.
Would that your many waters could carry it off
so rocks and gravel would wear it away.
This I know is not to be,
the grief of which I speak is far too heavy.
The hills absorb it but still it is immense.
The trees shudder
but can not shake it off.
Tears appear on the cheeks of old hardened men,
men accostumed to loss,
accostumed to dashed dreams
old men are moved as little children
in the weight of this grief.
Carry it river, would you?
Distribute it evenly amongst us
so that we as many can carry it
and not be crushed by its’ weight.
Carl Faber, October, 2014