An island of survival But not one of land Where all animals go Amidst scorched sands

I can be made of stone, language, or sound, Built to keep limits or keep you aground. Break me to pass or stay on your side, I’m the thin line where two worlds collide.

In movies I grant youth, when in Rome I grant a wish.

Up and down, top and side. Not big but small, rolling right along

A tube of sorts, carved by water and time, creating vast landscapes to gorge on. Always deep, sometimes wide, sometimes narrow.