I feel her flow against me in the half light
A quarter moon shines down on my eyes
Guitars and old friends in the cabin
But I wait for one more trout to rise
I don’t know why I think I need to catch it
Perhaps it’s for the take or the tug
I cast my little fly into the darkness
And listen to the sounds that I love
Roll on, tawny water
Born in the north woods
Die at the mill
Roll on, tawny water
When you flow by my soul
Take what you will
The Chippewa named her for the flat rocks
Hiawatha crossed her in a poem
Ghosts live among the cedars
Sometimes at night I hear them call me home
It’s the Judge and the Old Man of the River
And a hundred others, I don’t know their names
They speak to me through the sandhills and the waxwings
I know, one day I’ll do the same
Roll on, tawny water
Born in the north woods
Die at the mill
Roll on, tawny water
When you flow by my soul
Take what you will
I wonder how a man can love a river
And dream about her when he sleeps at night
She never swears an oath to be his only
She never even tries to be polite
There’s something in his soul that draws him toward her
Something that he needs to humanize
He sees it when he stares into the darkness
You see it when you stare into his eyes
Roll on, tawny water
Born in the north woods
Die at the mill
Roll on, tawny water
When you flow by my soul
Take what you will
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