Poling Down the River

Poling down the river,

under hanging silver trees,

the moon is full and shining,

shining down the river,

down the Ohio.

 

Sliding down the river

on a watery path of stars,

bonfire on the bankside,

fireflies in the reeds,

a banjo picks a lonesome song,

a tenor voice joins in,

Singing down the river,

down the Ohio.

 

Following the waters

beneath a midnight moon.

Swaying, swinging, moving slow,

 

dancing down the river,

down the Ohio.

 

Listen to the hoot owl,

to the nightbird’s golden call,

to the slapping, slipping current

as the water moves along,

listening down the river

down the Ohio.

 

Day will soon be breaking,

pink will stain the stars,

the heron and the eagle

will soon be after prey,

the moon will be a memory,

and we will all be sleeping,

sleeping down the river,

down the Ohio.

 

 

 

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About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
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2 Responses to Poling Down the River

    • grannysu says:

      Thank you, Libby. A trip on a sternwheeler made me think of the early flatboaters and how it must have been for them.

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