This is a picture painted with words.

The Mystic River Sophie Boswell While strolling along a grassy path, beside the Mystic River I revel in the breeze in the trees, and how it makes leaves quiver It’s as if they’re restless now; now that summer’s come As they jostle with each other, perhaps to get more sun I marvel in nature’s disorder and how a crooked trunk weaves One of nature’s wonders, a magnificent tangle of leaves Reflecting a shimmering lattice, on this old waterway Then, out of the blue, comes a song, from a lone blue-jay At the further bend of the river, where mystery and fog abound And the horizon gets fuzzy, as the sun is going down I make out a gaggle of geese; their silhouettes unique As they glide along the surface while paddling with webbed feet The Mystic River, in Medford, an old Boston town Is a respite in a busy world, where you can look around And picture this place as it was, hundreds of years ago Carefully saved from pollution – one thing it doesn’t know.