Susquehanna On My Tongue

Birds sing as the morning mist
sprays sideways from up above,
gray clouds swarm and swirl
on winds coat tails as the tree
branches rustle and bend,
past the green lawn the open
meadow lays un-trimmed
swaying this way and that,
beyond the colorful meadow
runs a river, wild and wide,
the very same river I swam in
when I was a child.