The River by Valerie Bloom

The river’s a wanderer,

a nomad, a tramp.

He doesn’t choose any one place 

to set up his camp.

The river’s a winder,

through valley and hill.

He twists and he turns, 

he just cannot be still.

The river’s a hoarder 

and he buries down deep

Those little treasures t

hat he wants to keep.

The river’s a baby, 

he gurgles and hums

And sounds 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 a monster,

hungry and vexed

He’s gobbled up trees 

and he’ll swallow you next.