By the River

by Connie Carmichael

By the river and past the tracks
between the mansions and little shacks
and creeping through the night time cracks
a thousand rambling alley cats.

The moon hangs down like a feather bed
where the street curls up like a mountain of thread
and the hills are a cradle carelessly spread
like dreams forgotten and buried instead

A cool wind blows where the water runs deep,
the trees bend down and the screen doors creak,
trains whistle by gently rocking the street
and the rails drum on never missing a beat

The fog sails by on a soft smokey roll
and the storms blow in always taking their toll.
She sleeps through the night while deep in her soul,
the rain sweeps down like diamonds on coal.