The moon Paints deep waters black,
Broken blades of silver shattered by a soft breeze
Ripples make valleys of blue white darkness
Another step into the deep
Water laps cold summer black
Waist high now, heart strings double knotted on leaden weights.
Pluck them and they will sing a mournful wail.
Life is a chore, a task in which I find no peace.
Still my song ye dark waters,
Across the deep, tread the river bottom, across.
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