Waters of Silver Spring. An
ode to the place of my childhood.
Sweet waters of Silver Spring. Oh! What soft soothing pleasures you bring. To my eyes, my ears, my thirsty lips. My tongue so longed to taste your flowing delight.
Whilst skin touches your smooth cascades beneath the soft shadows of night. Your slender arms hugs the neck of Athlone way over on the left. Whilst Georgetown’s high hills, caresses your breast. Yet your cool clear waters bubbles, and constantly your waters flow.
“Where, do you come from?” they asked. And where, do you hasten to go? No one has ever answered. Nobody seems to know.
Young ladies fair, washing their hair. Bending beneath your crystal flow. Shadowed curtains around them drawn. Be it at nightfall, or at early dawn.
Chattering women, washing their load. On rock’s smooth surfaces, by the side of the road. Valiant young men await their turn. Sits on the culvert’s edge, as they discover, and as they learn.
Just one short leg away from hip to toe. You burst up from the ground, and hurries to go. By lush green trees while bending low. They salute and bows, in a reverent show.
Sumptuous, refreshing, savory-sweet. Waters of my unassuming silver spring. You wind your way over rocks and river moss all live long day. Until you pour out of your glad waters, into the anxious jaws, of Rio Sambre.
Thank you. By E Lloyd Kelly. (The poet.)