A calm and winding river. The surface, nearly still. A boat gliding across the water. Nothing moves until, At last, something stirs! But ripples fade in fog, For in this quiet land of stasis, nothing moves at all. Broken dreams slip off the banks, regrets churn in the deep. The still, flat water stays unbroken, as the river sleeps. Perhaps in ancient, brighter times, the river roared with might, But now only the passing boats fill this gloomy sight. The mist clouds sight and