Over The River Crossing

Stones as once are skipped by they whom ride are laid upon and dark the swan the flame. Their long necks the trees bushes cut the feathers trail scissors cut a stream, where rivers flow, the sea is dark tonight, I know. The moon is flat concave one crack upon it's face is clear the tears of they, come hurry leaves are furry and the bumpy hill won't talk. Hollow stones they rattle off against the boat the oarsmans blind you can not hear the wind as rocky shoals approach. There is silence as the eyes of all whom came before that wait to leave the way you came but live to die and coming in away are sailing coming out some come once more.