By-Aleena Jomon
Once I saw a maiden fair,
Standing by the shore;
The sea had washed her feet till bare of sand,
And then brought more.
The sun shone on her golden curls,
As it danced around her face;
The breeze played along and made it twirl,
But it failed to waver her gaze.
Though her eyes were gazing at the sea,
It looked upon elsewhere;
Perhaps a world where all her dreams
Came true and people cared.
I wished to see what she was seeing,
And gaze upon her thoughts;
I wondered at why she was being
So solemn and distraught.
For though her face, a chiseled beauty;
Her eyes, two precious stones;
It told a tale of a woeful deity,
Abandoned and alone.
Dawn turned dusk and dusk, dawn
As the days ran along its course;
Yet I always remembered that beautiful fawn
Everytime I gazed the shores.
For three days hence I saw her last,
I met her one last time;
She had floated down the shore to cast
A tale of horror, blind.
For now her face was deathly white;
Her lips, a swollen blue;
Her hair that once was full of life,
Was damp and sickly too.
Oh speak, Oh speak, Oh maiden fair!
What is your woeful tale?
Is it about your dreams untold?
Or a life of dreadful shame?
Or perhaps it speaks of a lovers kiss, now laid on another maid?
Oh speak, Oh speak, my maiden fair!
How goes your woeful tale?
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn