The River
High upon the Mountain top,
it begins as but a stream
meandering it's way through the valley,
it awaits the coming Spring
Atop the highest peak, covered in snow,
it seems so close to the sun
as winter, rounds the corner to March,
the meandering stream, begins to run
Quiet crystal clear pools, soon will fill,
to almost the size of a lake
as fish appear small at first,
I beheld a vision of something only God could make
As I closed upon what my eyes beheld,
I heard the sound of thunders mighty clap
the mist arose, to a fevered height,
a three hundred foot, Majestic Cataract
Beyond the falls, a bit farther down,
I see the sheets of Granite steps
as the river rumbles over them,
Salmon, swim, upstream with yearning , their attempts
My journey, takes me farther still,
to where it begins to slow
so deep, so wide, so grand,
I wonder, how many have seen this show
The River ends so masterfully,
like it's very life were at stake
it opens up so willingly,
into a Pristine Mountain Lake
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