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The Little House on The River

On the little river you will see

A little house with hints of the sea.

“Get back!” The fish will say,

For the one they fear is a woman who lives on the bay.

Every morning,

Every afternoon,

Every evening,

The woman takes her fishing pole out to the little river,

In hopes she can sell more fish quicker.

Every morning,

Every afternoon,

Every evening,

She takes a long hard breath.

The woman rings a bell after her day,

In hopes that the fish

Would come across the little river to play.

Every morning,

Every afternoon,

Every evening,

The woman looks into the river,

Wondering if these fish would soon outlive her.

Her house on the little river,

Was once filled with anyone that was not her.

Every morning,

Every afternoon,

Every evening,

She thinks about them every so often.

What could she have done

To see them more than once.

Sister,

Brother,

Mother and Father

Were once there to calm her.

So now she sits upon

The little house on the river.

Her freckled and wrinkled face curls up into a smile,

As she thinks about her old family with style.

Every morning,

Every afternoon,

Every evening,

She casts her fishing pole to the little river,

In hopes that the memories of her old family

Would still be watching her.

Recommend0 Simily SnapsPublished in Poetry

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