Continuing with the theme of rivers, here is a lovely poem by William Stafford. For me, at least, it is one of those poems that you memorize automatically after reading it a few times.
Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I have done is my life. Others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt: ask me what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.
I will listen to what you say.
You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. We know
the current is there, hidden; and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.
What the river says, that is what I say.
William Stafford, Stories That Could Be True (1977).
"Skating on Oakwood Pond" (c. 1960)