slinking along
murmuring words
whether or not
they are heard

a crack in the land
a wound not healed
gushing through
the forests and fields

flowing loosely
from the mouth
from east to west
or north to south

leaves will float
rocks sink low
glimmering with
a moonlit glow

elegant paths
with the softest of bends
and harsh rocky banks
through endless landscapes it wends

a cooling dip
in summer drought
and freezes over
when the snow comes out

a home for fish
and fairies alike
hungry, it swallows
all things day and night

there’s nothing quite like it
we need not pretend
and only at the sea
does the river end.