The river outside my window is hurrying, scurrying by,
swirling and gurgling and bubbling,
rushing on watery wings.
Onward toward its destination
without a thought or care
for passing shores or meadows green.
Does it ever pause to think,
“Where is my final end?”
Does it ponder o’er and o’er,
“What’s the meaning of this race?”
Does it look to right or left
as on fleeting feet it flies?
Does it hear whispers
of rustling leaves on overhanging trees?
Does it attend the songbird’s call?
Or hear the lark or wren?
Does it in merry mirth reply,
or does it hasten on?
How fleeting this life!
How swift the years!
hurrying, hastening, scurrying on,
with nary a slack or pause or care.
Time flies on and on!
This is a very evocative poem about the movement of the river and nature (and how they symbolize time and our lives, of course.) I really liked it, and I think you are very lucky to be able to hear the river from your windows. It must sound beautiful!
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