The Symphony of the Frozen Saint John River

When the howling wolfwind finally passes by
And the trees return upright to silouette the sky
You are left with a portrait of twinkling lights
Nestled in boughs covered in wintry white.

The ice grows thicker on the river below
It too is blanketed by the fresh fallen snow.
Leaving an impression that it has gone to sleep
Stopped in it's tracks, slumbering so deep.

But the river knows no sleep, as it continues to flow
Under the veneer of ice and cold and snow
It awaits for the visitors who are wide AWAKE
To alight on it's banks to hear it's lyrical quake.

What is the symphonic sound far below,
Under the veneer of ice and cold and snow?
Ancestral ghosts, their history to share
With receptive folks who are fully AWARE!