Maiden of the Red River

She awoke one morn with unexplained dread,
The Maiden of the Red Red River,
With undue haste in her elfin tread,
She couldn’t help but shiver.

Looking all around for a sign or shred,
Thoughts ran amok in her mind,
The path she took, to the river it led,
She let out a gasp at her find.

Gone was the ruby, the crimson hue,
The water lay deathly pale,
Its faded shade was the colour of dew,
Not a trace of the blood red trail.

She sought help of a wise old soul,
To solve this great conundrum,
The crimson ’twas that made her whole,
Her life force was its flowing strum.

Said the Master, “There is a way,
But a terrible price it shall take,
Another must with his own blood pay,
And willingly so, make no mistake.”

She shed a tear behind closed doors,
Her world was bereft of hope,
And with her wept the isles and shores,
The Lion king, and the swift antelope.

Now through it all, a Red Red flower,
watched the beautiful Maiden mourn,
Catching its reflection in a puddled rain shower,
’twas suddenly struck by a thought of its own.

When the sun arose the next day’s dawn,
There was a tide of incredulous delight,
The pallor of the waters was gone,
The river sparkled with a ruby-red light.

Overwhelmed,the Maiden frolicked around,
And peacocks danced in spring,
Then noticing a grey petal on the ground,
She said “What an ugly little thing!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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