Qown pace. Some call her mother some woeship her . place her in a temple with a small lamp

Te water flows in abundace. Nobdy has ever thought of looking at her wasted flow, not thought of giving it auiet f[ows the river; never will she the little stories

of joy and grief That's the way of deastimy

flowing at its 

Not thought of bending her and shift her way to bring her face to face

with those staying far from her flow, those thirsting for a look of her, those in the wilderness missing her quiet dreams of  of sailors taking her to reach the farthest mod where she will find peac in the lap of the sea.

Quiet flows the dawn 

and with the dawn  flows the quiet river. 

The river is neither aware of destiny, 

nor does she know that time moves

and makes her move.

Stories are born on her banks and left unread.

Like destiny it's not in her to pause.

The cause and the effect flow as one single stream with her.

You may think of loss or gain

but in her flow they are one

because she knows, she must flow.

Some call her mother and stand on her shore;

pleading her to speak.

some call her  divinity

and place her in a shrine.

She will flow at her own pace, 

in abundance, never in need of joy or sorrow,

Her flow is unstoppable.

But not ignorant of your life ,its needs and deeds.

Until she comes in sight of the sea

her journey long and forlorn.

Do not forsake her 

when the sky thunders and in fear 

she breaks her bounds.

Take her waters to flow into canals;

help her reach the far out lands that need her

and she'll bless you before she follows

her destined path to the sea.