The Wild Reeds

Photo by the Author

In youth, you succumbed — as an adult, you refute — those days of truth.
Days of innocence abound:
As wild rivers flow — the eddies: meander around the reeds that bow.
Yet, as real as it is, never the same water shall flow this way — never again amongst these reeds —
Yet, they give way.
Sunlight dazed upon the water.
The scent of the wet reeds permeates the air.
Like youth, a dank (foetid) moist smell,
Calm for a moment,
Next, a torrent of tempestuous energy…