The River 

The River’s a wanderer,

A nomad, a tramp.
He doesn't choose 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.

Valerie Bloom