#WritcoPoemPrompt6
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,
The wind patting the water above,
Is silent as a dove in love,
The shore beside had a birch,
where seasonal birds do perch,
There stood the boy's canoe,
Where to move with no clue,
Then came a roaring cloud,
Claiming the cataclysm he vowed,
& Fearing dreadnes all the way,
Showed up the sun as everyone say.






© cal