Sonnet: The River

Without the River-water, can men live? It satisfies man's thirst and helps crops grow; To keep it pure for long, let man thought give; Alas! 'Tis polluted in ways galore. Carcasses, corpses, stay afloat on it; Men bathe their body's dirt and empty sins: Their 'sacred-ashes' are immersed by bit; They wash their dirty linen and then rinse. But why allow effluents to pollute? Dead flora and fauna and excrement; The River bears the ignominy brute, It floods or dries in weather inclement. 0 sacred River, bear with men insane, Who ages still profane thee without gain.