The Mystic River

While strolling along a grassy path, beside the Mystic River
I revel in the breeze in the trees, and how it makes leaves quiver
It's as if they are restless now; now that summer's come
As they jostle with each other, perhaps to get more sun

I marvel in nature's disorder and how a crooked trunk weaves
One of nature's wonders - a magnificent tangle of leaves
Reflecting a shimmering lattice, on this old waterway
Then, out of the blue, comes a song, from a lone blue-jay

At the further bend of the river, where mystery and fog abound
And the horizon gets fuzzy, as the sun is going down
I make out a gaggle of geese; their silhouettes unique
As they glide along the surface while paddling with webbed feet

The Mystic River, in Medford, an old Boston town
Is a respite in a busy world, where you can look around
And picture this place as it was, hundreds of years ago
Carefully saved from pollution - one thing it doesn't know.

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