The River

The River’s a wanderer,
A nomad, a tramp,
He doesn’t choose 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
That 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.