brig allen - The Stream

From high in the hills, the water comes singing,
To join other streams together they're flowing,
Hither and thither the music is ringing,
And all of the time its volume is growing.

Gliding along, as it flows it is widening,
Meandering, bubbling fuming and spouting,
Sometimes narrowing cascading dividing,
Then roaring and pouring, fighting and shouting,

And then like a child who has more than its fill,
When the time to extinguish its joy and its glee,
All of the water, that came down from the hill,
Empties itself secretly, into the sea.

brig allen

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-stream-17/