The River

I’m writing to the river.

Mother Nature has left you cold,

but you make my soul quiver.

Substance and life so real,

it makes my body shiver.

The River.

The running river

never seems to escape itself.

When it reaches the ocean,

sometimes the tide is too high,

it cries out for help.

But oh,

how I love this river.

Connected to the ocean,

your water is so deep.

So natural and rich,

they could never call you cheap.

Valuable, yet unappreciated.

On you they sleep.

I know that your existence has meaning.

You are a home to the fish,

and you provide water to the bears.

You travel through mountains and snares,

and you are literally unbreakable.

You adjust to every rock, turn, and hill,

while supplying life to all around you,

because that is your will.

Yes,

I said I was writing to the river.

Your water cleans me up,

making me better.

In fact,

I could bet my boat in you,

and I wouldn’t even row,

because I could float in you.

I’d float with you through any weather,

only if we were together.

Dear River,

you could dry out, and I’d still come to you.

I’d drowned in you, and still die better,

This is an open letter to the river.