The River Outside Our Hut

It didn’t stir, it didn’t sway, It made no splashing waves; Silently meandered — The river outside our hut. It gurgled sometimes in the night, While the world lay still in sleep; From my room I heard its song, As it whispered silently. Sometimes the howl of wolves, The shouts of men outside, The cry of a bairn nearby — Did suppress the river’s night song.

The air was humid, the room hot, I ran to the bank outside; Flowed through rocks, down the hill, In the sultry summer night. I strolled along, towards the bridge — The bridge of marble and stone; And from up there I heard its song, As it echoed from the shores. It became narrow, it turned dark, Vanished into the canopy; Tall reeds perched on either side, Swaying in the breeze.

Rippling waters made silvern circles, In the soft light of the Moon; From up there, I saw the town — Even the light from my room. ’Twas a little wooden hut, Mounted on top of stilts; Never quite understood why, For the river never flooded beneath.

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