George Hitchcock (2 June 1914 – 27 August 2010 / Hood River, Oregon)
Afternoon in the Canyon
The river sings in its alcoves of stone.
I cross its milky water on an old log—
beneath me waterskaters
dance in the mesh of roots.
Tatters of spume cling
to the bare twigs of willows.
The wind goes down.
Bluejays scream in the pines.
The drunken sun enters a dark mountainside,
its hair full of butterflies.
Old men gutting trout
huddle about a smokey fire.
I must fill my pockets with bright stones.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The one whose Reproach I Cannot Evade by George Hitchcock )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley