I am the river that through the meadow goes,
I run from mountains capped with winter snows,
And whisper by barn and silo, calf and cow,
As shepards sing, and milkmaids come and go.
I bend and flow about the weeping willow tree
that dances in a summer breeze and drinks of me.
I pass by jonquil, violet, sage and summer rose
I am a music that this meadow knows.
Today a maiden fair comes to lie beside me,
More beautiful than flowers of this field is she,
She sings a song of love and long ago,
More lovely than the whispers I can flow
I wish I could show her how I was long ago,
When I was a tumult roaring, not a river slow,
I could have carried her with surging love,
As high as drifting clouds above.
She dreams of her knight, armor flashing in the sun,
She dreams of love and passion, pure and golden,
She is no Ophelia, she will not come to me.
I am but a whisper beneath blue-skied eternity.
I am a river, whose whisper slows,
I am the river that through the meadow goes.
Dennis Lambert
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-am-the-river/
