Rivers

If eyes can’t see the gold you keep,

Don’t dig the mine for them to reap,

Your worth’s not kept by hands that weigh,

Nor dimmed because they look away.

You’re not to burn to please the mass,

Nor rain to bless their dried out grass,

Your sky is wide, your ground is true ,

Their map was never made for you.

They speak from peaks they’ve barely scaled,

And call your oceans small and pale,

But rivers don’t explain their flow,

They turn, they curve, they simply go.

So walk beyond their measured ground,

Ignore the borders they have found,

And if they still can’t name your scope

Free their anchors, cut the rope.

Let the blind ones miss the view,

Their loss is not a loss for you,

The souls that see will never doubt,

And never blow your lantern out.

Cathrine Hottran 2025