There used to be a river, on the outs
of the forest
Where the girl’s went and came out
with fair skin,
richer than milk hair shiny like the
night of the wolves howls.

Only the river and the forest were
not on friendliest of terms but
the nearing villagers could not see
beyond the magic.

This river, ran the tales of an
old healer’s trade, with its charm
and how its water only revealed itself
to those with souls clear like a newborn’s cry.

Majestic it was and majestic it behaved.

And the forest came up with what could
be called the witch’s curse.

But the whispers had taken to the nearing
village that the river was getting old,
drying up with how the forest had
started war and made up a stream
of it’s on and could no longer hold
up the very beneficial relationship that had
been going for centuries.

The maidens no longer went to the river but
into the Forrest, never to be heard from again.
The villagers waited, kept on waiting for their
maidens to come back, better than they were
in all manner when they went into the forest
but no one walked. The forest held still.

It was time the river took charge
once more, forgiving the villagers for
what they’d taken to heart when it had
provided for them selflessly. So the river
cut all that lead into the forest and declared war.

The forest then was surrounded by water, with
no land close to it. It became an island and the
river, gave up its freedom.

Now only a tale of those ancient remains,
there used to be a river.