Today, the river is golden.
Golden flakes drift across its surface.
Are these gold coins from jars
Buried in the earth?
Could they be from Egyptian pyramids?
Did they fall from Baroque altars?
Has the dragon that guarded them
Perhaps fallen asleep?
Or is a good fairy being exceptionally generous today?
The golden leaves flow by
With the serenity of a sage.
There is no gold fever, nor any gold prospector.
With their sun-drenched hues,
They merely touch a longing eye—
An eye thirsty and hungry
For beauty.