Pale

Soft like winter, white like snow,
With a silky voice the water did flow.
Beams of heaven hovered overhead
And raced the great current to its soft bed.
Hard on the rock and easy on the foam,
Across the soft land the stream did roam.
Dark in the shadow, bright in the sun,
Across the meadow the river did run.
One lonely river, a current of dreams,
Flowed from the valley like a silver moon stream.
With its sister overhead and its brother on its tail,
The strong river flowed, so soft and so pale.