The Rivers of Columbia

Her grace wades through the muddied water
Each step stirs up a mealy goo
But on and on she goes til trudging up the banks
Frail moon barely a toothpick
Watches her press on
Up the banks
To breach the castle gate
Where her king has been deposed

And the halls of her kingdom will hear her wailing
See her muddy the steps
And the throne

Yes, even burn it to the ground

Yet even burned
The foundation and framework
Remain true

Burned to the ground
As if the castle made the crown
A faint sigh was all was left of her


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