The River

The River

The River’s  wonderer,

   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 twist and he turns,

   He just cannot be still.

The River’s a hoarder,

   And he buries down deep

These little treasures

   That he want to keep.

The River’s a baby,

   He gurgles and hums,

And sound 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 is a moster

   Hungry and voxed.

He’s gobbled up trees

  And he ‘ii swallow your next.