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A Poem for March 2020

Ayeyarwady

 

The diesel engine hammers the warm air

Hammers the grey muddy banks

Hammers the bushes and scrubby trees

Hammers the flat, brown water and the hazy sky

Drowns the song of the river

 

Wading birds and buffalo

Small boats and hulking barges

Half-hidden villages

And on hill tops

White temples with glinting golden spires

 

The sun rises and the sun sets again

The river flows on

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