The river that flows down the hill,
Is never able to be a moment still,
The rocks and pebbles at it's edge,
Lie as steady as the dead,
But the river flows,
though mountains and plains,
through summer and rains.
It has to keep moving
regardless the pain.
For it is flowing for others
there is no self- gain.
The trees, the forests,
The cities and towns.
Stay where they are
in fear to drown
Standing still on either sides
and the mighty river
to it's path abides.

It flows down, but rises up.
For it is a giver .
The mighty mysterious River

© Introvert Aquarian Kiran