Inspired by Byron Ballard’s “River Song”

Look at Her broad, winding flow,

Brown as rich Ohio soil after the rain,

Thin as the veins of a leaf in summer’s peak.

Watch Her closely, She can be wild and fierce.

1913, She roared to life.

1937, She took what was Hers.

1959, She surged again.

2003, She came unbound.

2022, She reminded us all.

Olentangy, Scioto, Cuyahoga, Maumee

By any name, She knows Her way,

Though She rarely answers us.

Busy in the low, dry months,

Too ancient to stop and wait for our simple questions.

She glimmers like a serpent in the sun, winding south to north.

Older than these river valleys,

Older than these once glaciated plains

Older than we can imagine.

Olentangy, Scioto, Cuyahoga, Maumee

When the earth’s great plates collided,

She carved Her own path.

Mountains rose, and She flowed on.

Forests grew, and She wound on.

Fields opened wide, and still, She flows on.

Isn’t She magnificent, this wise old river, this mother of our land?

Endlessly bending north, twisting her own way

what river defies the usual flow like that?

My kind of river, our Ohio rivers.

Olentangy, Scioto, Cuyahoga, Maumee