Floodplain

All spring I was driving Every river swollen with rain, every stream a torrent Over the highway bridges that run high across the plains, flooded “Half of the Maritimes,” they say, “is running this way.” I don’t expect your love to be like mine I trust you to know your own mind. As I know mine Could it really be so effortless All in my sight, many hillsides – Green and black and distant, and rivers serpentine, glinting I know there’s so much it just can’t mean – you and me Still caught up in heartache and grief Yet to come, yet to cease I feel like I’m seeing double, all joy and all trouble My friends say, “be careful,” or “be gracious,” “glad,” or “thoughtful”; “don’t move too fast”; “don’t let it pass you by.” But I don’t expect your love to be like mine I trust you to know your own mind. As I know mine