Past Yonkers on the train the mountain is standing so big and tall...so strong, and below the river runs silently quietly at least a mile wide.

The river seems so harmless, yet you can sense its infinite power as it carries things along... big barges, little barges, speed boats...and a man stands fishing on its shallow shores.

The ruined derelict buildings on its shores lends no justice to its beauty.

Only the mountain, though sometimes scarred by houses, comforts the river as it runs to the sea.

Perhaps there is one house that the river and the mountain doesn't mind because of the light that shines forth from its garden in the east.

And past that house the river runs never late, carrying its tale of true human fate...from the garden...inside the eastern gate.

As the mountain gets higher the river gets narrower as if squeezed in by their might.

by Clifford Fagan

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