The water is trickling every which way
Finding old paths, pouring down hills
Blasting through snowbanks heaped at the base
Spooling through culverts below the farm driveways
Seeping past tree roots still frozen but thawing
Steeping the waters like good strong tea
Down in the valley the river is rushing
Released from the wintery grip of the freeze-up
Now it is shoving the bergs and the blocks
And the still-massive shelves of thick river ice
Pushing the chunks like a child plays with sailboats
The bathtub his ocean where boats go to sea
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