Across the river that glitters gold,
I bow to you, my heart is sold.
A thousand mirrors reflect a sun,
Which dips and hides behind clouds for fun.
And fins begin to pierce your skin,
Large fish with snouts just like a dolphin.
That play and frolic in your holy cup,
Causing surges of current to rise on up.
Which sweep the river like an old wooden broom,
As an old lady cleans and whistles a tune.
And when these currents begin to collide,
A vortex will form which rips the tide.
Which pulls and tugs like a suckling calf,
That wails when dragged from its other half.
Fettered to a pole and left to cry
Its mother turns her head to mollify,
And the milk that drips from its mother’s teat,
Is stolen away by a gluttonous cheat
Who churns the white into curdles and sweets
Getting blotchy and fat as the calf depletes
And this milk so holy is drunk like wine,
In sweet exultation beside a river divine!
By Tess Joyce
This poem was first published in Eclectic (June 2010) issue