River

The river rushes by,

Unawares that all along its lovely banks,

We rush and rush around. 

The river, we think, is always there,

steadfast in its presence,

summer, autumn, winter, spring it flows. 

Around we rush and rush,

always doing, never stopping,

but where are we going?

The river rushes by,

springing from the mightiest peaks,

and where does it run to?

As people rush around,

going nowhere in the end,

the river rushes by,

telling the mysteries of the high-topped mountains

to the sea.