Walking the old river bed,
How often has the course changed?
How often the boulders
Worn to rocks
Worn to pebbles
Worn to dust?
The river carries them on,
Shape shifting.
How often the roots of mighty trees exposed,
How often
They held on until
Nothing left for them to grasp,
They succumb to the way
And float on?
How often no man stands to witness the
Sound
Of the fall?
All
Become one
With the river
Eventually
Returning
To the sea.
Old riverbeds remain and regrow from tiny
Seed to become mighty trees
They return
In time forgetting the river.
Chole Into Diamonds 