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The mighty river leads a life
     So different to our own.
It beats a path through dale and town
    On a bed that’s rough with stone.

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It trickles down from haunts in hills;

   It flows to meet the sea,
And leads an independent life 
    With little thought of me.

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Its moods swing wildly day by day
   And weather plays its part.
Streams that flow from heathered hills
    Can stir its watery heart.

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It flows one day with quietude
    Along its pebbled bed,

But after lots of heavy rain

     It flows with speed instead.

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It’s then its waters swirl and churn;
     Its currents seek out prey –
And woe betide the foolish ones
     Who in its path should stray.

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But a river plays capricious games
     And can show a cordial face.
Children, paddling in the sun,
     Can enjoy its cool embrace.

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Families picnic on its banks;
     Dogs wade in and swim
And on warm summer evenings, 
     Watch the swallows dive and skim.

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The ducks rear young and children play.
     The river sees them all
Whilst streaming on its seaward-way
     Through dale and urban sprawl.

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