"The Waters of March"

Remembering Susannah McCorkle

January 4, 1946 - May 19, 2001


A stick, a stone,
It's the end of the road,

It's feeling alone,
It's the weight of your load.

It's a sliver of glass,
It's life, it's the sun,

It's night, it's death,
It's a knife, it's a gun.

A flower that blooms,
A fox in the brush,

A knot in the wood,
The song of the thrush.

The mystery of life,
The steps in the hall,

The sound of the wind,
And the waterfall.

It's the moon floating free,
It's the curve of the slope,

It's an egg, it's a bee,
It's a reason for hope.

And the riverbank sings,
Of the waters of March,

It's the promise of spring,
It's the joy in your heart.

~

A spear, a spike,
A stick, a nail,

It's a drip, it's a drop,
It's the end of the tale.

The dew on the leaf,
In the morning light,

The shot of a gun,
In the dead of the night.

A mile, a must,
A thrust, a bump,

It's the will to survive,
It's a jolt, it's a jump.

A blueprint of a house,
A body in bed,

A car stuck in the mud,
It's the mud, it's the mud,

Of fish, of flesh,
Of wish, of wait,

It's a hawk, it's a dove,
It's the promise of spring.

And the riverbank sings,
Of the waters of March,

It's the end of despair,
It's the joy in your heart.

~

A stick, a stone,
It's the end of the road,

The stump of a tree,
It's a frog, it's a toad.

A sigh of breath,
A walk around,

A life, a death,
The rain, the sun.

And the riverbank sings,
Of the waters of March,

It's the promise of life,
It's the joy in your heart.

~

December 2005