By the River

Majestic guardians of old
rise from their slumber. Stretching.
skimming white hair against the yellow infant sky.

Infintesimal beauty. Void of age,
of wrinkled failing,
yet wiser than that sunrise,
having seen it all before.

And I, here by the river.
In my corner, in my refuge
Shadowed from the world's
bustling disdain.
I watch in the crisp silence,
as the trees whisper their secrets.
Speaking softly of their sorrows to the
gentle passing wind.