The River

Verse 1: In the core, the water climbs, a pulse rising from far-off storms. The soil gives more than it takes, yet the weight of harvest bows the spine— a pyramid built from silence. Verse 2: Beyond the valley's hem, the desert sings. Rain falls in forgotten corners, and the air thickens with distance. The crowd thins—hands turning from the plow to the wind. Chorus: The river bends but does not break, its silence pressed into stone. Grain swells where walls constrain, a whisper of rain beyond the horizon. Verse 3: The flood stumbles, too much, too little— the balance frays. The king becomes his shadow, his name brittle on the tongue. Verse 4: Dry wind carries the news— fields shrinking to dust. The river remembers the years when its reach was wide— a story carved deeper than power. Chorus: The river bends but does not break, its silence pressed into stone. Grain swells where walls constrain, a whisper of rain beyond the horizon.