Along the in and out
Bank of the river
Eroded in twisted knots
By time rain and currents
Roots exposed like veins
On the skeleton of a skinny old man
Grass barely clinging
To what hasn't washed downstream
Yet, in shade given
By age old scrub oaks
Paltry in beauty
Compared to a willows grace
Grown in the sparseness of
fertility lacking any
Other space
The moss seems complacent
At home age old a centerpiece
Of a feast here,
No roses grown
Not any vermillion
Just washed wasted dirt
Sand loam,
An existence
For growth
A persistence
I've known