Non-Rhyming Poem

This poem is by my younger daughter, written when she was probably just about 9.

The wings of birds,
like leaves on trees,
falling down onto rivers of life,
like snow on a winter day.
Gently, almost like flowing,
like a river,
like a lily pad gently on flowing water.
Like animals playing roughly together,
tugging on a branch, happily, running.
Like floating,
like laughing kids on a summer day.