Where Go the Boats?

Dark brown is the river,
Golden is the sand.
It flows along for ever,
With trees on either hand.

Green leaves a-floating,
Castles 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,
A way down the hill.

Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more,
Other little children
Shall bring my boats ashore.

"Where Go the Boats"
by Robert Lewis Stevenson