The River

Down the gorge the river rushes
Like a foam-flecked steed
Urged on by an unseen rider
Ever faster and n'er giving heed
To the precipice yawning before it
But plunging on with a roar
Leaps wildly over the cliff
And down to the valley floor
Rising amidst a spray of foam
Rushing on once again
Down through the winding valley
Out o'er the rolling plain
Past meadow, forest and farm land
Past castle and miners shack
Under bridges and trestle and causeway
Never stopping or looking back
But on through daylight and darkness
Until suddenly, around the last bend
There lies the surging ocean
And there lies journey's end.

by Florence Vida Bowers

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