Waverley

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I dreamed of far-off Waverley
where golden tree leaves sway.
I walked along her silver streets
where snow white pebbles lay.
I heard a cold clear river run
across a verdant field.
The gentle sun washed over me,
its sweet caress my shield.
And all around blue butterflies
encircled flowers sweet.
But then my eyes looked to the left
and sunlight did retreat.
Even in my Waverley
the dark was always near.
Then in the dream I turned away
and shed a lonely tear.
I came across a hill of grass
that smelled of summer rain.
And as I wept, a smile broke through
the neverending pain.
Even though the shadows come
no matter where I go,
the crystal sea of Waverley
within my veins does flow.
When I woke and left that place
that lives within my soul,
I cried again for then I knew
I never would be whole.
Not until my dying day
when finally I’ll be
forever in the place that holds my heart –
my Waverley.

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.