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Uriel River ©

Gordon Fjaelberg
Bridgend, Wales
1973

Far above, the moon was shining,
Shining on the dew-lap waters,
On the waters of the river,
On the small Uriel River;
As it bubbled, chattered, gurgled
On the stones of its foundation,
As it ran on, never stopping,
Sweeping obstacles before it,
Carrying the boughs of proud trees,
Pine and ash, all intermingled,
Making small rafts on the surface,
On the surface of the river
As it rushed on, rushed on swiftly,
Never stopping, always moving,
Pushed as if by some unknown force
From the mountains whence it started,
From the distant, icy mountains,
High up in the lofty hide-outs
Where the snows are slowly melting;
First a trickle, then a torrent,
Giving birth to this small river,
To the small Uriel River
On its passage to the ocean,
To the wide Atlantic Ocean,
Where the small Uriel River,
Widened now by churning currents
Ends its life in silent protest,
Wavering, as though uncertain,
If it should die in this manner,
In this harsh, submissive manner,
Then roared on with bold abandon,
Giving up its rafts of pinewood,
Pine and ash, all intermingled,
Giving all up to the ocean,
To the wide Atlantic Ocean.
Now the cycle re-commences
High up in the icy mountains,
High up in the lofty hide-outs,
Where the snows are slowly melting,
First a trickle, then a torrent,
Giving birth to this small river,
To the small Uriel River
On its passage to the ocean,
To the wide Atlantic Ocean,
Passing woodlands, glades and valleys.
Far above, the moon is shining,
Shining on the dew-lap waters,
On the waters of the river,
Part of Nature's endless circle;
On the stones of its foundation,
As it bubbles, chatters, gurgles,
Flows the small Uriel River.



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