The River By Maura Z., Age 14

Carved into the rock,
A crevice for every hundred years,
It hardly stands still,
Smooth deep shaded pebbles against your face,
The silent strength of the green water below,
It's pulse; so strong and clear is lost in the echoing forest around,
And it keeps moving,
On towards the dip in the land,
where the water swells and spins,
Blowing kisses to the weeds that bloom in the shadows,
Never ceasing to flow,
Acorns dance in the water,
My toe dips timidly into the coolness,
The slow waves that tickle my skin as I walk into the current,
Plunging underneath before all sense reaches me,
And I can only see the murky green,
all shapes foggy and indistinct,
Inside another world,
But our eyes can't adjust to the light.