Each night as dusks falls across the landscape,
And turns the vibrant river into a morbid black stain,
She divests the scales and embraces the cold water,
The stone sits like a guru in the midst of the tumult,
A beckoning call to prayer, the pain in her heart,
The yearning overwhelms her, a choke in her throat.
The black and bobbing river would take her easily,
But it could not contain her heart-ache,
Could not bear the heavy load she holds,
Her black and ringlet wet hair creates a union
Between mortal and ineffable infinity,
She has to come nightly and the river runs on.
She slowly lifts herself from the cloying cold,
Escapes from the blanket of submersion,
She stands upon the rock like a sentinel,
Searching the horizon for evidence,
That her beloved may be somewhere close,
She cups her hands to begin her lament.
The sound of her song sells the sorrows of the Earth,
Whispered words of a wanton wisdom,
Each direction her voice echoes across the shore,
It’s aching longing is beyond anyone to ignore,
It is as a baby’s cry, no-one parent can resist,
And it draws all in hearing to a sad demise.
And when her song is sung,
And she sees the mortal remains of those drawn,
She swims around the black and bobbing river,
Checking each frozen face for that of her beloved,
She sorrows for those lost because of her,
But cannot deny the urge to sing for him,
No matter what the cost maybe.
Sailors of that black and bobbing river,
Know better than to listen to her song,
And resist by humming their own retort,
Is he amongst their number?
Does he know she only sings for him?
I fear not, for her song is immortal,
And he has long gone the way of mortal man.
DALE M 2021