On a winding river,

By the stunning countryside,

The fluffy clouds are painted white,

With brush strokes long and wide,

The river’s water glistens,

With reflections of the sky,

The light cast by the shadowed trees,

Ask not how, when or why,

A dream upon the river,

Like the countryside’s embrace,

Does not need explanation,

Or to study now its grace,

The winding river’s but a dream,

The painter makes it flow,

The shadowed trees are brush strokes,

Gently down the stream we row.