River rapids at rugged, rolling rocks frey
and fragments rive away,
	eroding round and smooth the stones,
		and on the banks,
the sagging soil gives way -
	to be carried down to slowing streams,
		rendering rich upon the banks
both silt and leaf decay.

And on the bare banks of burns
are born to grow forests of ferns
	sprouting fronds unrolling like chameleon tongues
	to catch tasty titbits of treetop-filtered sunlight.

From the water's edge, protruding pebbles prod
	viciously at innocent, oncoming waters.

Almost apathetic small streams
	brook the nagging directions of winding channels,
		taking the blows in their stride
		as they downwards graciously glide,
			to become a cascading waterfall
			filling a pool with water full
			- and momentarily resting still.

Then once again stepping down the mountain slopes'
	staggered path of stairs,
	down to where waters wallow amongst themselves
		in the glory of a triumphant journey:
			mountain reservoir of well-earned rest
			- vast mirror that humours the forest's vanity.