The Rivers Poem by David Welch

The rivers race, the rivers flow,
in great torrents and low oxbows;
the rivers flux, the rivers breathe,
small minnows darting endlessly;
the rivers deep, the rivers wide,
fishermen cast off from the sides;
the rivers cold, the rivers ice
runs jagged like a glassy knife;
the rivers press, the rivers force
turns the turbine, powers the core;
the rivers breadth, the rivers path
lets all the boats and barges pass;
the rivers curve, the rivers rake,
they give shape to the whole landscape;
the rivers breach, the rivers surge,
when water speaks, it's always heard.