Whenever I see the river flowing from Fround to Foust fast upon  its track

I see the rocks and pebbles moving brown and black

I suppose the waters always moving so I never see the same

But the stones, the tiny stones, the stones that have no name.

 

I have never seen a waterfall, but I know that some rocks have;

That they hold their testimony; their clashes and their path

I know this rock isn’t smooth, and I wish it were, I do;

For it wouldn’t be so painful if it this rock was truly smooth

 

These Rocks in the river could use some help in their plights,

And someone should help clean up these sights

Chopping the grass and weeds, and the trees stronger and sturdy;

But what it needs most enough is too feel as though its worthy.

 

If I Had a lot of money and all my debts were paid

I’d put a gang of folk to work with scythe and saw and spade.

Id make the river clean and free, Of all the pests that haunt thee

And find more rocks to set free and out of their old debris.

 

Now, a man made river, with forced water tracks

Looks perfect, perhaps, and foolish, like a unusable coat racks

But there’s nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone

For the lack of something within it that it has never known.

 

But a river that has done as a river should do, a river that has shelter life,

That has been a peaceful blanket for a fish and its wife,

A river that has echoed the birds last call and seen from below the stumbling feet

Is the saddest sight, when left to drain, that your eyes could ever meet.

 

Whenever I see the river flowing from Fround to Foust fast upon its track

I never go by the river without stopping and looking back

Yet it hurts me to look at the river and rocks slowly falling to the blind

For I cant help thinking the river and rocks is the path of a broken mind