Silent, At the River

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Silent, at the river
stands a man,
watching,
eyes cast down to the rushing water.
Hours pass,
and he waits
hands clasped in lonely supplication.
As the sun sets
he turns his gaze slowly upward
and the sky darkens.
The breeze settles
and the treetops bow
almost imperceptibly.
One leaf falls
as a teardrop in the night.
The man falls to his knees,
hands raised to the heavens,
one tear
never allowed to fall,
though the first star of night never rises
and the river runs
ever onward.

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