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By The River



In the face of suffering she was longanimous.
By the river she sat, embracing her agony
And waited for the little boat to emerge, like
The demure bee from within the beauteous petals.
Her impregnable belief to see him, on the boat,
Waving at her, made her roots go deep.
She waited for the tides to run quiet and calm
For just one day; and the skies to shine like her hope;
Her young heart aged by the river, counting
Ripples from every pebble she threw; but it was
A river; ripples seemed to be in their usual rush.
Summer changed to winter, winds turned cold;
Leaves grew impatient and kissed the moist earth.
She grew old waiting, but the boat was still a dream.
The curtains were undulating, asking her to get up;
And saying that maybe the land was too far;
Or maybe the tides were too fast;
The truth her eyes bled at the thought of was
The boat was never destined for a homecoming;
Neither was her wait destined to see an end; 
Perhaps the boat was where it had to be;
A forgotten face was what she had been, all along,
Somewhere, on the other side of the patiently smiling river.

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