Tram favoured the river.
It was his perfect adventure.
He often made himself comfortable,
After a distant travel.
The sun kissed him on his face,
As he laid on the sand.
His father and brother wanted to race,
But he ignored,
And propped his head with his hands.
He arose unwillingly,
But soon joined their game.
Running from tree to tree,
Until exhaustion came.
That moment of joy brought laughter,
And Tram went to the riverbank.
Staring into the cloudy water,
His innocent heart sank.
Eyes slowly glancing upstream,
While resting on his knees,
Sadness filled his minute frame,
His mind was not at ease.
Fragments floated in the river,
Sailing away from the source.
Meandering the currents together,
Moving with great force.
“Papa,” he began to lament,
Examining each object.
“Why is the river different?”
His father stood erect.
“Son it’s just pollution,
There is no need to cry.”
Confused by his inconsideration.
“But won’t the fishes die?”
His father scoffed and walked away,
Leaving him to ponder.
He no longer felt to play
His mood remained quite somber.
He slowly walked away from the river.
Responding to the faint call of his father.
“Time to leave.” The day was over.
So much for the river adventure.