THE RIVER

On a hill o’re looking the river below

The waters reflect the life

Along its borders

It ripples under the movement

Of fish, fowl and man

Colors of the seasons are mirrored

Orange, green, yellow and blue

Workers on the sternwheelers keep tabs of the depths

Mark Twain! They yell out

Who knew the stories that would touch the centuries

Would have been born

Of a man so enamored by the river

He would change his name

To reflect the depths of the waters

On which he rode