It’s here, to the river, they come,
to play, spray  and water the little ones.
Take in the waters, away from the heat.

It is here, to the river they come,
to seek, to kill and hack and steal away.
Little ones left confused where adults lay,
by the bloody river, in grief, they stay.

It’s here at the river, they stay,
Rocking, touching and mourning for a day,
and then, knowing the loss, they move away.
So it is here, to the river, no more, they come.

*Ebur: Latin word for Ivory

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Marilyn Bradley is a retired postal worker and activist in Victoria, BC. Canada. She is a member of Gadrian Poetry Group.

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