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.