On an early morning wake
Steam would stream from the mountainside river
Its cavernous tunnels perched
Bellowing a curious roar as if to only show a sliver from the pore

A many time I walked the sea
A river so wide
So pure and shied to brew the richest tea
It stemmed like vines, boundlessly high across the mountainside
So grand the mount stood that a pan left a thousand questions to whom we may be

Woosh the waters raced
On and on
Blind to the banks if once faced
and will soon be