Sailing in that stream
Is my paper boat.
I’ve built her,
So I will gloat;
When with the breeze,
She swings and sways;
And the pebbles galore,
She brushes away.
She is dainty,
But a mischievous fellow.
Often rocking a leaf,
Floating so mellow.
And when it gets
A wee bit breezy;
She pokes the back,
Of a water lily.
Sometimes she looks
Like a bumble bee.
Bobbing about,
In the stream tiny.
And sometimes she looks
Like an old granny.
Leaning lazily against,
A rock mossy.
If you ask me,
Where is she going?
I will answer,
I ain’t knowing.
May be she will
Sail into a magical land
Or who knows…
Get picked up,
By a naughty hand.
Is my paper boat.
I’ve built her,
So I will gloat;
When with the breeze,
She swings and sways;
And the pebbles galore,
She brushes away.
She is dainty,
But a mischievous fellow.
Often rocking a leaf,
Floating so mellow.
And when it gets
A wee bit breezy;
She pokes the back,
Of a water lily.
Sometimes she looks
Like a bumble bee.
Bobbing about,
In the stream tiny.
And sometimes she looks
Like an old granny.
Leaning lazily against,
A rock mossy.
If you ask me,
Where is she going?
I will answer,
I ain’t knowing.
May be she will
Sail into a magical land
Or who knows…
Get picked up,
By a naughty hand.