Mark Twain | Rhyming History

The steamboat passed the port and he looked out at the brown, muddy water. The heat was failing and the humidity began to soak his clothes. Soon it would be twilight and the lighting bugs would begin to flash on the shoreline. As the boat moved downriver, he saw an old wooden raft hitched to a tree near the shore. It had a battered steering rudder, and the logs that were tied together looked so beaten he would have guessed it impossible to serve any function other than kindling. He watched the water move the raft back and forth and smiled to himself, thinking about the hands that made it and what possible experiences someone might have on a craft like that.

He turned to the north in the direction they were heading and wondered how a craft like that could get up the river without capsizing. He wondered what would have happened if he had a craft like that. It didn’t make sense now, but it would have been wonderful for his youth. He wondered how he might have used it. He wondered, and he dreamed.

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