Born in the snow-capped Cascade Ranges <br />a timid junior river sings its song. <br />A voice of loneliness, a sad and tearful longing, <br />cool waters burble through the valley, the Snoqualmie. <br /> <br />And, as it's welcomed near the town of sleepy settlers, <br />it passes fields of berries, flashing purple baubles. <br />Today the harvest may begin as sunrise beckons, <br />a windswept scene brings tones of shade onto the green. <br /> <br />From rocky gorges a bright river has descended, <br />from grandeur of beyondness it has plunged, <br />a death-defying act, past silent boulders <br />to slow its journey to meander while it dreams. <br /> <br />Ramshackle huts now stir amidst the morning dew, <br />a hundred baskets carried out to frosty bushes. <br />Lethargic voices bark commands to buzzing children, <br />but soon the silence of the valley will return. <br />So that the river can resume its joyful song.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/harvest-4/
