A small and languid river eddy
Swirls foamy bubbles round and round.
So slow, so weak, yet still it moves
The bubbles that to it are bound.
Some that break free and move along
Are snagged in yet another stall,
More slowly moving than the first
Where change comes hard or not at all.
Unhindered by the cloying banks
All this while the center flows--
A downhill slide in rippling chatter
As toward the sea it onward goes.
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