So slowly trudged my river
Laden with brown and stuff
That it smelled like something dying.

Under the bridge
Where the big cars ran past without looking,
A bedraggled duck swam.

Past sorry meadows ran my river,
Watched with saddened eyes
By creatures that couldn’t know
Why the sun no longer sparkled as it used to.

And as they saw and knew,
Their song died also
Because there was nothing left to sing to.



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