On that bleak night, those years ago,
The rivers filled and overflowed
For underneath the heaven's eyes,
I sat beneath the moon and cried
And turned the brooks to woe and brine -
My tears were theirs, despair was mine
My little nymph - my woodland sprite -
Had chosen then, upon that night,
To fling her soul to realms unknown
And live amongst the weeds we'd sown
For concrete now besmeared her home,
And though she'd stayed, the birds had flown
Great swathes of pain now mar these trees
Which disappear by slow degrees
My fairy of these former glades
Has died without the woodland shade
And I am left, now all alone,
To grieve upon the stone we've grown
Well done Ben, I agree with the others, that your rhyming metaphors were expertly placed. Indeed, a sad tale, the industrial acid smog and rain, which is destroying many a beloved woodland, even the mighty whale has become frail.
Added to my favorites.
Loved the title, and whilst the image you paint is definitely nothing new, the story carries enough depth, and your word choice is interesting and fitting. I feel you wrote yourself into this poem, as it gets stronger with each stanza. A sad and (unfortunately) too true poem.