The river runs swifter
on this stretch between the high banks
And many
who have plied the currents confidently
all these years
Still find themselves
unequal to its strength.
Their paddles catch,
Their little craft disintegrate
or founder,
They reach for other boats
Or sweep along alone
And the “I told you so”s of younger times
now sink, or echo, hollow
in their irony.
Before long, there’s no longer time
to think about the past
The river bears them onward
True to its own course.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 17, 2013
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