

Water running,
in a steady stream,
flowing over polished Arkansas stones.
The Ozark Mountain stream so old,
the waters are so cold,
and thy endless flow,
that's steady and unwavering.
A rock falls in,
its journey begins,
then calmly downstream it's washed.
As the rules do abide,
the ripples do collide,
and play a pretty attuned song.
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