Pouring over stone and rock,
this liquid has no time to stop.
Rushing and cascading down vale and hill,
it's song is a fever; just can't keep still.
Silence is a word Unknown to it,
growing restless if it stops to sit,
stirring energy and bountiful power,
the water destroys both bush and flower.
The tune is played over a wistful breeze,
as the river flows to become one with the seas.
Haste is key, quicksilver and blue,
foam leaps forth as from lips is spewn.
Rising fever, broiling with freedom,
the river lives in its own kingdom.
Fast and free, haste must be made,
the sea is master whereas the river is maid.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry and Lamentations
PoetrySome poems about nature and serene landscapes. I would call it an anthology. However, some poems are Lamentations so therefore, may be quite despairing and upsetting.
