Them

Like a hidden poem she resides
She resides
In his books, ink and time.

He sits by her bank, every day
And listens
To her murmurs, flowing away.

She flows, with her ebbs and tides
Indifferent
To the fertile plains on each side.

He writes her a poem each night
And it flows
As she reflects her star-filled sky.

At least in his poems, the stars shine on her.