Slow, slow, no quick, the khaki coloured water
slid imperceptibly away from the old town;
empty water, silent, soulless and somehow sad,
She sat playing at the edge of the river,
her guitar across her knees, the case at her feet;
sound spilling wide quickened the life and the flow,
and the slow, slow twirled to a waltz, an elegant
race, a folksy tangle of upended ducks;
the swan appeared, the khaki cleared, as sound
sparkled and soft, danced its way through the air;
the spirit of music awakening life in the river.
I looked for her face, for the face I knew so well,
saw resolution, and unfamiliar dreams.