The River in December

It's peace again the river claims,

But now December on it rests,

Too late for all its battered flowers,

Too late for all its abandoned nests.

Little mists of times long past,

Hide this summer's ravage now;

An ancient solace steals along

Broken bank and shattered bough.

Only God now lights the river,

Lights from stream to bank, to bark,

With the colours of the Kingfisher,

And returning rules the dark.

On such a day when I am gone,

Away to exile, still and free,

As quiet and steadfast flows the river,

If all is well, remember me.