At Water's Edge

She played with sticks at water’s edge,

When the moon was young and bright.

Her sullen face and matted hair,

For none had ever seemed to care

And often cast her out of sight.

You’d find her here at summer’s heat

Or in the grasp of winters chill,

Her company, the river deep

In which she’d often stare and weep

And wish upon the waters, still.

A painful child, a lonely soul,

She’d wander down beyond the trees

And often thought of jumping in,

To join the river in its swim

And out to meet the roaring seas.

Then one day true, the river rose

And snatched the girl upon the bank,

Where, dragged her to river bed

There on her body creatures fed

And on her misery they drank.

But no one went to find the girl,

The world forgot her, time removed her,

And at the ageing of the moon,

The river dug her only tomb;

An effortless eraser.

So should you stumble on the place,

Where once the haunted girl did weep,

You hear her still on darker nights,

Her shadow cast in starry lights;

Forever wailing in the deep.

Copyright © 2011 by Simon Austin