The River

I am the river, the falls and the rain,
I am the storm cloud, the stream in the plain.
I am a still pool, quiet and deep;
I am the ocean, and I never sleep.

The brute force of wind may be frightening and daunting,
the howl of a gale may sound wicked and haunting,
a hurricane may seem fearsome and strong;
its power will waver and fade before long.

An eruption may burst with smoke and great heat,
and fires so fierce they consume all they meet,
the glare of the sun may scorch and may burn;
but that which consumes is consumed in turn.

The earth may tremor, tremble and quake,
leave pain and destruction and death in its wake,
raise mountains to stand mighty and tall;
but even the greatest of towers must fall.

For who can withstand the force of the tide?
The might of the water we all must abide.
Its power is constant, come night and come day,
when waves become wrathful the wind holds no sway.
The fiercest of fires are doused when it rains;
but when the mountain has crumbled, the river remains.