There once was a river that flowed downstream,
It wished and it washed itself into a dream,
It wanted to make itself into a clean,
Huge flying aircraft machine,
It was impossible to say the least,
For how could a river become such a beast?
But oh how that river believed,
That one day it would finally be relieved,
And so never giving up hope,
The river wished and washed itself into a pulp,
Until one day it finally came,
The river could see its target and took aim,
It wished and washed and took a shot,
But it missed it’s target, was it all for not?
The river cried because it seemed,
That flying would remain a thing to be dreamed,
The river continued to flow downstream into the night,
Until it came across a sight out of sight,
The river could see the ground beneath it,
As if it was some kind of a pit,
The shot it took earlier and missed,
Was at a boat that could create anything you wished,
Because the river took a chance at shooting the boat,
Instead of flying, it became the river that floats.