The War and the Woods: Black River

By jessehunter - E-mail this page - Add to My Favorites - Add to Blog List - See other blogs in Poetry

Saturday, May 31, 2008

Black River

BLACK RIVER My dad was a man who did what he could Into the water he’d throw a lure he would Not into a lake but a river that runs back It’s cold and it’s deep, they call it the Black The only stream that doesn’t flow south They all tried to understand there at the mouth They had no business there... Sign in to see full entry.

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