The Strid

Happy river, singing, tossing,

Threads of diamonds to the sky,

Heedless of the waiting monster,

Crouching ready to devour her,

Drag her to the hidden caverns,

On the surface rising bubbles,

Gurgling breaths of dying victims.


Peering down the oily deepness.

Of the dark and boiling cauldron,

From the fearsome fascination,

Of the horror that would draw me,

With the erstwhile happy river,

Flee blindly up the hillside,

Crushing bluebells in my panic.

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