River Poem by Tom.S Pease

It bubbles, churns, writhes, swirls and foams,
Always moving on never the same,
No name, but no passport to prove that,
It runs down a mountain from an unknown spring.

As the dawn light shines through,
An albatross swoops,
Plucks a frail fish off the surface,
Food for its hatching chicks, up in the hills
A newborn day, a newborn life.

As the feeble dusk light shines on the mountains,
A silver stream runs down to the river,
By of a herd of brown,
A sharp shot leaves a brown speck,
Lying on the rocks,
Another death, as the day dies.

It used to be water,
To keep its people alive,
But now to me,
It's just a river,
With no name.