Where Go The Boats

Dark brown is the river,

Golden is the sand;

It flows along for ever,

With tress on either hand.

Green leaves afloating,

Castles of the foam;

Boats of mine aboating,

Where will all come home?

Off goes the river,

And out past the mill;

Away down the valley,

Away down the hill.

Away down the river,

A hundred miles or more;

Other little children,

Shall bring my boats ashore.

- R.L Stevenson