Grand River in March
By Scott Newport
Across a bridge I travel now.
The scene, no fare to pay, I’ll bow.
Remote to me, but not today,
My breath lets go a single “Wow!”
A snowy river melting grand,
Shimmering current sifting sand,
Across the marsh a shadowed pier,
Where swirling seagulls search the land.
The lacy banks of melting snow
Uncov’ring grey of long ago.
A mink slips, sleek, along the shore;
I wonder where her trail will go.
The current flows the river’s span,
Where slanting markers set a fan,
Snow caps on posts, the sagging snow—
The end of winter once began.
The bridge arcs toward the other side,
The river running oh so wide—
But who am I to speak this truth?
I don’t deserve to feel this pride.
And then I’m on the other side.
I turn my head to say goodbye.
My thoughts now on the distant road,
The wintry shores of peace subside.
I make it down the road a way,
And can’t believe I did not stay.
I turn ‘round as soon as I can
And driving on, hear myself say:
“I love that grand river in March.”