The Thompson River Flows
A stream of snowmelt dances and cascades,
Abandoning her mountain crib arrayed
With quilts of columbine. From alpenglow’s
Magenta light, the Thompson River flows.
Mature, rebellious, full of trout and mood,
Her rushing muscles wear the bedrock smooth.
Sedate, she suns her rippled face, a queen
With eddies crowned by autumn’s leaves citrine.
From heavy rain and sullen charcoal skies,
Her turbulent and hostile waters rise.
She floods the canyon, showing no restraint.
Then, apathetic and aloof, she wanes.
In time, adorned in prairie grass, she meets
The South Platte, far from Rocky Mountain peaks.
Embracing her, he soothes her fickle throes,
And in his arms, the Thompson River flows.
Through my Braille instructor, I heard about the 2018 National Braille Press annual poetry contest. The theme was nature, poems could be no more than 125 words, and must be in Braille. Shortly after hearing of this contest, I took a day trip to Estes Park, Colorado, and wandered down the Big Thompson riverwalk just off the main street. Thus inspired, I wrote the above poem and submitted it to NBP.