
The river, it used to power a mill, in which corn was ground into grist.
The owner had a lucrative business, making money, hand over fist.
As years past by, demand declined, but the river flowed as before.
The mill owner called it quits, shuttered the place and locked up the door.
The river’s current was strong and swift, with the seasons it ebbed and flowed.
Just as the timeless current, life on the riverbank quickened and slowed.
One constant remained throughout the years, a presence that ever endured.
A colony of large, semiaquatic rodents, by their dam efforts a large pond was procured.
The beavers worked tirelessly to repair and maintain, not as drudgery, to them it was bliss.
They rolled up their sleeves, to overcome what may with the power of stick-to-itiveness.
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