Where Go the Boats?
Dark Brown is the river,
Golden is the sand.
It flows for ever,
With trees on either hand.
Green leaves a-floating,
Castle of the foam,
Boats of mine a-boating —
Where will all come home?
On 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.
Robert Louis Stevenson, from
A Child’s Garden of Verses