The river sliding down the hill,
taking with it many branches and roots and
the trees seem to also follow.

On a log sliding down the water,
there was a dog.
Well that’s what it looks from far here.
But it could well be a monkey,
or even a kid, left alone.

We all have seen ourself in that situation.
sometimes we are the log.
sometimes we are the monkey,
but always thinking we are a kid.
Sometimes we just become the dog,
always blaming us for being the river.

Or crying victim in the tree’s name.

Categories: Poetry

Tags: 365 Poems, dog, forest poem, log, Poetry, Poetry Project, River