The river’s a wanderer,
a nomad, a tramp.
He doesn't choose any one place
to set up his camp.

The river’s a winder,
through valley and hill.
He twists and he turns,
he just cannot be still.

The river’s a hoarder
and he buries down deep
Those little treasures that
he wants to keep.

The river’s a baby,
he gurgles and hums
And sounds like he’s happily
sucking his thumbs.

The river’s a singer,
as he dances along
The countryside echoes
the notes of his song.

The river’s a monster,
 hungry and vexed
He’s gobbled up trees
and he’ll swallow you next.