Dear Turning River under the Little Red Bridge, I will miss your face.
I will long for your sweet calming tunes.
I will look for the Sand Martins that touch their feathery breasts upon your silver light.
I will look for the river weed's green flowing mermaid hair under the arch of your stone,
But I will find it no more,
I am leaving you.
I will walk down the sandy path and stop once more under the light of the setting sun.
As I watch the last remnants of the day,
My eyes fill with water like your own sad eyes,
Tell me I shall return to you once more!
I will trace the gnarled bark of the little shadowing oak.
I will stop beside the huffing heifers and watch them blink their blond eyelashes.
I will feel the chill of the moody South East wind.
And although I shall be many miles from you,
I shall still hear the gentle trickle of your winding bends and turns,
Like the flickers of my mind,
I with you and you with I.
O Little Red Bridge,
There, where many have walked,
There, where I have cried slow tears,
There, upon your way,
I have laughed and hoped,
Dreamed and sighed,
Delighted and searched,
And hungered for my peace to match your own.
Dear Turning River under the Little Red Bridge,
You will always and forever be my home.