The old river keeps on flowing to the North.
It flows down in the valley its flow never ends.
A winding path over ripples and around bends.
Between banks the current is always on the go,
It goes on and toward the North it always flows.
Each year it becomes a little wider and deeper.
So my old fishing spot banks get much steeper.
As a boy I once walked on sand at the ripples.
The sand has gone only rocks are in the middle.
I would go swimming, but I had to wear shoes.
If I waded in it today I'd better wear some boots.
Still the old river flows like it did way back then.
Its surroundings will never be the same again.
Only its waters flow is left of my old friend.
I'll ponder my sweet thoughts of it back then.
Think of the joy and seclusion it would lend.
Always on the go for its flow will never end.
I would love to go back to see it rolling again.
It brought back memories of when I was a kid.
I'd day dream on its banks waiting for a bite.
My eyes glued to the fishing poles day or night.