A cascade of ices, cold fury gargling down the Beskids waiting basket of Baltic, great span of your lakes infinite stretch of Mazury- you, marshal land-giver- to our lives along banks into houses and history- what do you make of us, God of this river?
Those who would plumb the crevice dry cracks fetch in your mystery, the deep green in you, River whose currents still shape us with influence, run blood in our vein-sinew wild into your wilderness, What do you build in us God of this river?
As we cross the ice packs winter’s water hidden us floods and droughts sung to your rhythm- fit eyes flicked at the universe, town’s heart pumps a pulse just a mere quiver, under thick ice for so long, what have you forbidden us. God of this river?
For us the smart facts, snatch a glimpse of you from high bridges across in the rush cars trams train and bus fast metros under you to nest in sky-scrapers shrinking you down to a summer’s small slither our lives blunder through your slow current’s residue What thinking, wonder you pagan God of this River?
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