Oh, river dweller,

what do you think of the fiends

that poisoned you so?

Tear my sorrow from

my chest, that pain is much more

preferred in the end.

Twisted lilies in the steaming lagoon,

wrapping around willows that are covered in dew.

Shining bark, damp from the stew,

that covers it's roots from anything's view.

Frogs croak in the morning light,

the buzz of flies no one's delight.

Storks rest on the limbs,

the willow there longer than the oldest hymns.

A quiet morning past the cities brims.

Songbird, sing your tune,

lighten the veil,

stay until the appearance of moon,

we will tell your tale.

In the morn, when you come back,

sing your song,

I doubt you'll lack,

and the day will stay long.