The Silent River

How does your river swim, Sir?
When you're out alone on wifeless days
and ponder far beyond your gaze.
How does your river swim?

The butterfly flies to its wings intent
and I will fly with my master's consent -
My master also asks the same
Sir, why is your river so lame?

I wilt in puddles and fever long
Until I am told otherwise,
For your river seeks my spendable skin
As I do seek the skies.

Your river, Sir, flies clockwise unlike
The birds of blinded peach
and the mountains glare in full despair
and cower the thin air's leech whilst

you see me warm in cottage dreams.
As I stitch leather coats with pleats and seams
Our Seamus says "you're always late"
Your quest is far at stake.

How does your river swim, Sir?
For my presence here will end in oath
with you, my love, lets share a toast
with tea and tea the most.