Dreams

(Note: This is a poem I wrote for english class one day. Enjoy!)

As the world sleeps it's restful slumber,
And the River starts to flow and bubbling,
A grey hawk flies,
Spying the land.

The River starts flowing,
Running over the land,
Cutting its path,
Carving the stone.

The hawk flies onward,
Listening to the stream,
Watching the land,
Surveying the scene.

The River tells stories of hope and of glory,
Stories of the dark,
Of hope and despair.

The hawk still watches,
Growing afraid,
Thinks of turning,
And flying away.

The River keeps flowing,
Through streets and through towns,
Through forests and cities,
Then threatens to knock,
The local church down.

The hawk keeps on following,
Ever more afraid,
But stays with the River,
It won't be delayed.

The River then slows,
And finally stops,
The rage now gone,
The changes now done.

And as the world then awakens,
And sees its new shape,
It is then seen with awe,
At its newly carved path.

As night falls again,
And the world falls asleep,
A River starts flowing,
With the hawk overhead.

-Ben Scanlon

If you want to use this for any reason, it's not too hard to email me at greyhawksci@aol.com.

©1999 Ben "Greyhawk" Scanlon.