Luke Rylands


The River


The river’s a wanderer, a nomad, a tramp.
He doesn't choose any one place to set up his camp.

The river’s a winder, through valley and hill.
He twists and he turns, he just cannot be still.

The river’s a hoarder and he buries down deep.
Those little treasures that he wants to keep.

The river’s a baby, he gurgles and hums
And sounds like he’s happily sucking his thumbs.

The river’s a singer, as he dances along
The countryside echoes the notes of his song.

The river’s a monster, hungry and vexed
He’s gobbled up trees and he’ll swallow you next.

Submitted: Tuesday, February 01, 2011

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