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!”