MY LITTLE RIVER:

You´re not the Amazon, Okavango, Ganges, nor the mighty Nile,

Where piranhas snap, where crocodiles lurk & hippos fatly smile,

You´re not the place where the pelicans sip & rosy flamencos play,

But you are my pretty little river where I loved to spend long days.

You´re the place where dragonflies & butterflies gaudily dip & trip,

The place where Grandpa & I would make small round pebbles skip,

The place where over big grey rocks, the rushing cold water rumbled,

The place where all the little stones chattered as they fell & tumbled.

My special little river is where all the fat toads were emerald green,

The place where playful sleek brown otters played & were often seen,

It was where the willows frondy fingers, in wavelets caressed & dipped,

And where the small spotted deer came down the bank & daintily sipped.

Where the river´s flashing gems of kingfishers would swoop & regally dive,

And the fat lazy brown trout would peep, leap & lead us on a merry jive,

Hours of still sitting & hours of fishing, just my old Grandpa, the river & I,

Whiling away the hours in shadowy green glades of the river´s glassy eye.

Down by my little river, I´d dream sweet dreams & on its mossy banks I´d sit,

Where the birds would sing, honey bees would hum & little gnats would nip,

Breathing in with ferny breath & soft silty air, we´d contentedly, happily sigh,

And with the warming contentment, we would shut our drowsy summer eyes.

The swans glide by silently until the sad lost hour of their last swan song,

To that place where that little boy I was, now so grown & now long gone,

But there´s a special place, where my little river still bubbles, runs & flows,

And whenever I can, I still drop by to greet my little river & say to it, “Hello”.