There once was a river that flowed downstream,

It wished and it washed itself into a dream,

It wanted to make itself into a clean,

Huge flying aircraft machine,

It was impossible to say the least,

For how could a river become such a beast?

But oh how that river believed,

That one day it would finally be relieved,

And so never giving up hope,

The river wished and washed itself into a pulp,

Until one day it finally came,

The river could see its target and took aim,

It wished and washed and took a shot,

But it missed it’s target, was it all for not?

The river cried because it seemed,

That flying would remain a thing to be dreamed,

The river continued to flow downstream into the night,

Until it came across a sight out of sight,

The river could see the ground beneath it,

As if it was some kind of a pit,

The shot it took earlier and missed,

Was at a boat that could create anything you wished,

Because the river took a chance at shooting the boat,

Instead of flying, it became the river that floats.