Rocks and gravel glow,
last of the sun rays fall,
river is still, no discernible flow,
flowers, proud, stand up tall.

Flotsam and jetsam lay still,
picnic table calls to me,
my favorite place to use my quill,
this place inspires poetry.

Green grass sways in the breeze,
clouds in motion are a sight,
I hear the rustle of leaves
evening turns to night.