And Quiet Flows the Don
Ripples galloped, bank breasted. Silt poured like red wine, As the lush scent of tulips Rode on the saddle Of the east-end breeze. Strands of green pinched and perspired At the golden gleam, Enticing a picturesque Mesmerizing, solemnity attest. Chalice insufficient, Is the thirst to quench, yet Eternal is the source and resource. Tales of warriors and kings, Myths of good and evil Words of sorrow and laughter, All traverse along its course. The birth and end of all, except itself, It flows, flows and flows Till the end of time, Along the lush scent of the tulips On the saddle of the east-end breeze.
