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Beyond the forest stands the river the mighty waters of the Mississippi.
On the hill near this river stands an old log cabin.
Looking down on the waters rush, a force that will not hush.
The sound of this river can call out through the darkest night.
A keen example of the Mississippi might.
My cabin home is well kept, with a swing on the front porch,
A mosquito burning torch, at all four corners.
The rushing waters travel in a forceful flow, time creeps in a certain pace
As the waters continue to race, yet, there are moments of peaceful
waters of grace.
As a child, I sat on top of this hill and watch boats sail from my sight,
It was like a crowded street that beamed in the crisp moonlight.
Youth sees a different scene that holds the view of the rivers sheen.
Now many years has come to past, but the countenance of this rivers
Ageless face leaps with its regal flow in smiles of grace, like the misty
waters of this place.
(Time and chance have taken one last chance to witness the
Rivers dance, look to this starlit night, and bid farewell to the