You flow lazily on your way,
to a destination known only to you,
round the bends your swirling mass goes,
over rocks and logs everything in your path.
The sun swims along your banks,
sparkling in happy prisms of light off your dark surface,
you sit in pools off the beaten track,
men love to sit and ponder life on your shores,
or throw in their lines,
a fish or two for dinner to catch,
You bubble happily and fill the air with your mighty roar,
carrying on like there is no end,
no cares nor concerns do you seem to have,
all is but a frantic journey for you,
you rush ever onward no time to stop and chat,
so busy that you can't take a break.
You wave at the trees on your way by,
give a cheerful hello to the birds in flight,
even taking time to water a parched farm or two.
O' mighty river you are the king,
powerful and graceful taking charge of all you encounter,
nothing can stand in your way,
you carry on your dark waters,
the hopes and dreams of mortal man.
Mighty river how we adore you for all that you are,
placing our faith in your generosity,
fearing your fierce wrath,
and knowing all the while there isn't a thing we can do,
to stand in your hurried way.
Donavon Scott Vinson
A poem about the mighty unfettered river.
It is a thing of beauty and terrible power,
helping or hurting as it sees fit.
