I move, but barely, slow and wide, with secrets 'neath my muddy tide. The cypress leans to touch my face, where gators glide in silent grace. Neither river, lake, nor sea, what Southern soul could I then be?

When you stop to look, you can always see me. But if you try to touch me, you can never feel me. Although you walk towards me, I remain the same distance from you. What am I?

I spin without a sound, yet my path is bound, with life I am crowned

I look like a mouth, but I am not a body part. People often dive here.

Immortals are the land, and those who inhabit it, but they won't grant eternal life, for our fate is a gift that will follow us even beyond the circles of the world.