The river called to me one day,
In whispers soft, in silver spray.
It traced the stones with patient hands,
It carved the earth, it kissed the land.

I stood beside its rushing waves,
A wanderer lost, a soul who craves
A meaning stitched in moving tides,
A truth that in its depths resides.

“Where do you go?” I dared to ask,
“Through valley deep, through mountain’s mask?
Do you not tire, do you not weep,
For all the lands you’ll never keep?”

The river laughed in rippling light,
It danced beneath the morning bright.
“My path is wide, my time is free,
And all I touch becomes a part of me.”

“But do you never wish to stay,
To linger long, to rest one day?”
I begged the river, pleaded near,
For I had known the weight of fear.

The waters swirled, then bent to sigh,
A current soft, a moonlit cry.
“To stay,” it mused, “is not my way,
For life is movement, night and day.

We do not own the things we find,
We hold them once, then leave behind.
A stone, a dream, a love, a friend,
All things must shift, all things must end.”

I watched it twist, I watched it turn,
I felt its wisdom deep and burn.
Perhaps the river knew it best,
That change is not an end, but rest.

And so I stepped, with feet unsure,
Into the waves, into the pure.
I let them take me, guide me far,
Beneath the sun, beneath the star.

For I was never meant to stay,
Not chained to fear, nor bound to clay.
Like rivers bend, like currents roam,
I too must move, and call it home.