Gone is the river of our youth
So faint its far whisper
No more the way we remember
Lost to reach its meander
Ripples of the water.

O where’s the past thick morning fog
White mist had been betrayed
We used to see small fishing boats
Ghost of steam gone astray
And took the fish away.

Yet still we have these memories
Of two kids throwing stones
Of fishes darting through the stream
Of splendor no one owns
The river we have known.

These are from my memories of those summer trips with my beloved lolo to a distant town up Northern Philippines. My father told me weeks ago that this river just ’stopped running.’

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This entry was posted on Friday, May 16th, 2008 at 4:38 pm by Nin and is filed under Environment, My Country, My Home, Of Towns and Places. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.