The water has a fever, listen to her cry,
Fervent she is, racing down placid
Beds of sleeping stones;
Flee!
Fear flies on fins in desperation,
Blind eyes guided by shaken memories
Like a shell-shock victim, staggering.
This old river she has mourned,
Holding countless tombstones in her braids,
Silent soliloquies caress weary reeds.
Mother's tears are plenty,
Mother's hope is empty.
