Down you go,
Down the river whose water is dark and cold.
Swathes of reeds hide each bank from view,
All you see is the straight path of water
And the unchanging grey skies above.

The river’s surface is like glass,
Smooth, quiet and still.
Yet a current of the deep pulls your little canoe along.
Pace is slow, so you pick your paddle up.
It is your only company besides the chilly wind,
Who touches not the reeds.

The paddle dips,
And you start moving faster.

You feel you must go on, down the endless river.
Hunger, weariness and pain do not haunt you here,
Only the faces of loved ones and the nameless
Reflecting on the cold, dark water.
Such sorrow hurts you deep,
You pull your eyes from the surface.

The paddle dips,
And you keep moving forward.

A splash of water from the paddle is flung your mouth.
Questions arise in your head,
Am I near the ocean?
For how long you sat in your canoe you cannot tell.
But sometime on your silent journey,
A mist swept through the reeds and all around.

The paddle dips,
And you keep moving forward.

You feel not cold and damp, nor fear and worry.
Instead you feel embraced, content and relaxed.
You cannot see the faces anymore,
And the water no longer tastes salty.
For the first time since the start of your journey,
You hear a sound – a trumpet calls.

The paddle dips,
And you keep moving forward.

As the mist disperses, there is a change.
Reeds are gone, clouds are gone, and the water shallow and clear.
The banks are instead lined with canoes and people.
Some you recognise, others just smile and wave.
Fish and children swim through the water,
Like dolphins in the sea.
High above angels sing, with a backdrop of baby blue.

The paddle dips one last time,

Hands of old pull you up onto the bank, and many arms embrace you.
Family, friends, acquaintances, fill a hole deep inside.
Turning to face the river, you look back down its length.
You would wait in good company, until the rest came.