A confluence formed by the little creeks Like serpentine, it takes myriad twirls Leaping down as cascade from the high peaks Reaches the barren plains as rolling pearls Flows with mesmerizing voices of lilt Phosphorous lather as floating white clouds Settles at the foot of hills with fine silt Becomes a lifeline and the gift of crowds Reflective brow of the crystalline lake Shoots the image of lunar during night Mistaken for a ripe fruit by the drake Aims to slither towards it for a bite