Walking the old river bed,

How often has the course changed?

How often the boulders

Worn to rocks

Worn to pebbles

Worn to dust?

The river carries them on,

Shape shifting.

How often the roots of mighty trees exposed,

How often

They held on until

Nothing left for them to grasp,

They succumb to the way

And float on?

How often no man stands to witness the

Sound

Of the fall?

All

Become one

With the river

Eventually

Returning

To the sea.

Old riverbeds remain and regrow from tiny

Seed to become mighty trees

They return

In time forgetting the river.