Along a Brook in My Waning Heart

Published on Sun, 11^th Oct 2026 at 16:51

by William Troup

Along a brook in my waning heart, I catch a docile wind; the sails are gone, she left no wake, and masts lie broken beneath the tempest's dance; what river could withstand such wrath? As bashful flowers flail ashore, this hull has yet to find its strength; now oars awaken what remains, but the river has yet to dream ...