My youngest son is rushing
from the sharp hills of adolescence
over rocks and stones, always onwards
like a river to an unfathomable ocean
His thoughts are deep
his soul ancient, older than the flow
kept within his banks
He bickers down valleys
sometimes stilled, mostly calm
until an overflow of joy
forces a burst, a breaking of the levee
and he talks, oh he talks
of his passions, fears and hopes
as a waterfall speaking to the wind
Who will dive into his depths
see the treasures within clear waters
bring them to the surface
for the world to see
Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Stanza 2 References “The Negro Speaks of Rivers” By Langston Hughes
