14 November 2021
By Philip Kuepper
Cold and crisp come these morns.
By ten, the air is warm.
And, O!, the pure pearl
blue sky, and the river
inviting you row it,
fit athletes, each of you,
who stamp like horses in the cold,
waiting,
until the blood in you begins
to row your veins,
intimating that you row
the river.
(9 November 2021)