Crossing Sudbury River,            as many crossings   as thirty years will bear old wooden           bridge old Sherman's   Bridge pilings trembling with weight of a          teacher's hopes and    fears, he who never really saw          the river, admiring    only the vistas at dawn, each as singular         as his moods, the   Sudbury flowing cross- ways to turbulent mind-        stream, to all the   agitations, so patiently   flowing, like a clock        keeping time for   eternity, now one last   crossing, but      to where,  to what?                                                               June 2004

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