The River Has Burst It’s Banks More Times Than I Can Remember

The river has burst it’s banks more times than I can remember.
Another swan
Is gone,
But I find
That she has left a black feather behind.
In summer weather
I relish the scent
Of the heather.
Come November
I repent,
But why?
For I
Did pave the path
To the cavern where my demons laugh.