The Blackwood River -edited

[Mopkins]

1st edit
The Blackwood River


I should love to be the river
that sallies through these hills
and reflects the clouds in silver
ripples ridging. Taste the thrills

of growing wide with winter rain,
rolling around the bends,
flirtation with the bracken fern
and bushes as it wends

its way along the tree-lined banks
collecting twigs and leaves
to move downstream. Then with its thanks
murmured amidst the reeds,

it rushes by the boulders, tickling
the pebbles in its path
with bubbling and trickling.
The kookaburras laugh

and perch in overhanging trees,
plunge into its embrace,
emerging with the fish they need.
As the clear waters race

and rush through the verdant valley,
emus come for water
with the kangaroos and joeys,
the river’s banks they wander.

I should love to be the Blackwood
River with its birds and fish,
refreshing anyone I could;
yes, that’ll be my wish.



Original
The Blackwood River


I should love to be the river
that sallies through these hills
and reflects the clouds in silver
ripples ridging. Taste the thrills

of growing wide with winter rain,
rolling around the bends,
flirtation with the bracken fern
and bushes as it wends

and winds its way along the banks
tree-lined, collecting leaves
to move downstream. Then with its thanks
murmured amidst the reeds,

it rushes by the boulders, tickling
the pebbles in its path
with bubbling and trickling,
a noisy streaming bath.

I should love to be the Blackwood
River, (that’ll be my wish)
refreshing anyone I could
and hugging all the fish.