Riversong

[robust lichen]

‘Neath the winding willows stands a meager man,

Before the man flows a splendid stream,
Donning a dim robe stitched of finite hours,

He draws closer to the water, closer than in yore-

The willows, wallowing, unconcerned with the lore of man,

Waft and waggle, wish-wash amidst sharp northern winds.

Weeping, they mourn the wayward flight of orioles,

Woe! Woe! Woe! Wherefore fled they, here no more?

As for the man, he looks, he sings, he shouts, he mutters,

Praying to whatever divine hand might weave him heaven-

Alas, measly he is, and measly he remains.

The meager man is lost to the silver, splendid stream,

The woebegone willows fall to the unrelenting winds.

A man is no more, nor his god.

A willow withers, as does its world.

[plush condor]

The archaic language is fun and adds a gravitas to the poem. Your first few lines are a really strong start. The 3rd to last and 4th to last lines could use some tweaking with rhythm, have you read the poem out loud?

I’m curious if another word than “lost” could be used for “the meager man is lost…” line. Is he swallowed by it? Is he stolen? Is he embraced?

Thanks for sharing your lovely poem!

[vague vigil]

the second stanza does give that river flow song as the title says

[wanton birch]

*the second stanza

does give that river flow song

as the title says*

- vardomc.

[vague vigil]

with the repeating consonant sounds

and the diction is marvelous here