Down by the river, down
by the sea,
A bit of fluff floats in the water, passes me.
Is it off that cottonwood tree,
That clings. Roots wishing to be free?
Swirl the waters in each little eddy,
Wishing only for a place to be ready
Where headwaters rush and are steady.
Muddy depths concealing something heady?
Iím close enough to touch the beast,
While it munches on shore, that feast.
And then, in a day or so, at least,
The anger in its heart will have ceased.