The River - Poem by Valsa George
The river looking like a silver strip,
Comes down from mountain slopes,
She flows over plains and fields,
And moves towards the oceans vast.
On her shores cultures grew,
Long ago they thrived and perished.
On her banks, history sleeps,
Of valiant men who dared and won.
She carries people in barges and boats,
And ferries them over tides and waves,
In her coolness, children splash,
Grown ups dive and fishes breed.
She wets the land and tends the plants,
She quenches the thirst and cleanses the filth,
She lets the fishermen live on her,
She gets the birds feed for them,
But the ruthless men poison her,
With heaps of garbage and toxins foul.
They wound her, leaving gaping sores,
Too fatal for time to heal!
In summer she is meek and mild,
But Oh! In rain she snarls and growls,
Thus in turn she smiles and frowns,
And continues to travel miles and miles.
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