Recreation Poem by Rod Morris

Its fun floating high in a cloud; being part of a mountains shroud.
Pressure so low; time to let go, tumble to earth as slow-spinning snow.
Many Friends gather round in a bunch; it finally comes to the crunch,
Friendship is nice, but there's a price, I'm frozen stiff I've become ice.
In a river much harder than rock I've turned on a runaway clock.
Downhill a first thrill, keep moving at will; eons of time to still kill.
As seasons change I reform; and soon it's my turn to get warm,
Like a willing lamb to the slaughter I melt now I'm water.
Consigned to a lifetime filling damn dams.