The river that flows down the hill,
Is never able to be a moment still.
With a rush and a roar, it dances and weaves,
Carving its path through the land that it leaves.

Beneath the sun’s gaze, it glimmers and shines,
A tapestry woven with nature’s designs.
It whispers to willows, it laughs with the breeze,
A symphony echoing through rustling leaves.

Each droplet that tumbles, a glint in the light,
Turns boulders to whispers, shadows to bright.
It rushes with purpose, relentless and bold,
A story unfolding, a journey retold.

The rocks and pebbles at its edge,
Lie as steady as the dead,
Yet in their silence, stories they keep,
Of journeys taken, of secrets deep.

Once, a child played by the water’s embrace,
Dipping her toes in, finding solace and grace.
She gathered the stones, each one a delight,
A treasure of memories, gleaming in light.

With every ripple, a song softly sung,
Of laughter and joy, of youth yet unsprung.
The river, a mirror, reflecting her dreams,
A partner in play, in...