#WritcoPoemPrompt6
The river that flows down the hill,
is never able to be a moment still.
The rocks and pebbles at its bed,
lie as steady as the dead,

The river wish to rest a while,
to stop being a stagnant wanderer.
The rock wish to travel like Nile.
"how sweet will it be?" she wonders.

The trees sway to the hymns of the birds,
They swing and wave to the skye.
The flowers are beautifully bred,
they habour the glowing butterflies.

The trees...