Nothing Poetic

While passing by a river, I saw

A river.

That’s all it was.

Just a river.

Not a mystery.

Not a ‘babbling brook’.

Nothing poetic

It was just a river

Wide and smooth

And flowing out to sea.

Calming, perhaps,

With its flow and gentle sounds

But not magical

And nothing poetic.

It’s just a river,

After all,

Flowing out to sea

Made of rain from hills

Or mountains.

A natural phenomenon

And nothing poetic

Flowing out to sea.