A river poem.

Slaney   Oily river flows toward the widening space Of  Norse Gods creeping below the tidal fall. The rolling waves move inexorably downstream As the exiting tide adds freshness to its salty taste. Deeper here and greener with a tinge of brown. The folding wefts of water make rivulets In the passage from brackish and then to salt. The wind scurries across the uneven planes to rippling squall. Dark stones watch from the...

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