waterfall of the mind

Running through the quiet race
My thoughts fly out on their own
Must always keep steady pace
Running through the quiet race
Casting for trout by the brace
Astride flowing water’s stone
Running through the quiet race
My thoughts fly out on their own

a triolet poem

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turn, turn

With Winter’s wrath hopes are dashed
By Fall will be much treasure
If Spring’s promise yields pleasure
By Fall will be much treasure
In Summer’s growing measure
By Fall will be much treasure
After sullen workers thrashed
With Winter’s wrath hopes are dashed

a triolet poem