“Flows Still the River”

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Photo by Katharina Jung

 

What brings you here child

Prancing near my witch’s den

Come in and listen to the tale

Of beauty clashing the dementia of men

A tale of horror

Of death and despair

A tale of blood

That smudged the sweet maiden’s hair

The sweet maiden was like you

Light with innocence and cheer

With heaven-made braids

And eyes colored mere

Day pulling day

Tugging her end close

In the forest, she did play

And lay when lethargy chose

But red was the sky that morn

And scorching was the sun

Preluding the mischief

Waiting for the morn to be done

Darker grew the night

And whiter grew the moon

And front to front the light met

The knife’s shiny gloom

He was a man of stature

But moonstruck was he

Although under her spell

Neither witch nor mystic was she

Unforeseen was her pain

And swift, her fall

On the crimson-stained dress

Life drained all

So crunched the dry leaves

And crisp came the breeze

Pale arrived the dawn

And the air wooed the trees

And so the sweet maiden’s life faded

Yet life loitered all the same

Flows still the river

And fiery still the flame

Beneath the earth rumbled

And above the earth soared

The flowers bowed to the wind

And slaves to their lord

Such is the cruelty of life

It heeds not the dead

Such as you must be

Dismiss your woe and dread

 

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