As a child this was one of my favourite poems:
The Brook, by Alfred Lord Tennyson
I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.
By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges….
Read the rest here
If you were a river where would you like to rise and flow down to?
sharing with where’s my backpack