Strange Fate

Somewhere down the line
While the soil was being tilled
An old river was winding,
Cutting its path through rugged hills
Rain or shine, the soil keeps churning
The river keeps flowing
Misunderstood art etched in the countryside,
A presence of beauty and wisdom unknown.
Twist and twine, independent lives
Until entangled in mutal needs,
Cut back across desert lands
And in it plant new and unusual seeds.