By the willow weeping into the cold water of a lake, She waits with heart racing wondering was

it a mistake, Her lips drained of their usual red stain and plump pout, The rosey hue to her cheeks lost to the cold and doubt. Soiled in the dirt along the muddy banks her hem trails, And the billowing sleeves of her dress are like full sails, But she is anchored to the spot by a promise she gave, Fearing if he does not come this may well become her grave. Long auburn tresses flow about her shoulders in wild abandon, Green eyes fading where once the glimmer of hope shone, Swelt like form wading barefoot in amongst the tall reeds, Searching with a frantic feeling that somewhere he bleeds. Her tender heart squeezed to bursting by the hands of fate, Surely a lovers vow to be here on the hour hed not be late, For by now her family would know that she had run away, Tears flow as freely as her fears about all they had to say. Crows in the distance sound ominous as if to mock her plight, They have taken off to feed as she took off in the dark of night, He made a sweethearts pact to take her far from here, Theyd marry and live a life of love hed sounded sincere. She hears her fine linen tear on a thorn as she runs, Perhaps he is waylaid for fear of their dogs and guns, Maybe he changed plans for one of a thousand things gone bad, But never once in the hour could she admit that shed been had. The otter hurries safely to the bank as she paces fast, Her nails bite into the bark of the elm as the hour passed, And a tiny whimper escapes from her like a rabbit in a trap, She falls to her knees holding his worn letter in her lap. That was the hour and this was the place they had first met, Theyd shared tears and passion that neither could forget, Her virtue had slipped from her as easily as his silken words, And she lays in tatters watched curiously by the birds. A golden slow worm slithers by her feet and under a rock, About her neck is his silver gift that contains a fair lock, And she idly thumbs it over and over as she sits and frets, This is not how it was to be nor as good as it should get. A drop of ruby blood spills from a sore on bruised ankle, Overhead carved in the trunk it remains by the bank still, A lovers knot carved for all to see and mark the time, Where innocence was lost and where she waits for a sign.

Snow begins to fall about her lifeless form all hope is gone, The air is cold and her breath floats away in exhaustion, And her smooth skin truns as white as the soft ground, But blue lips whisper his name then make not a sound. An eerie mist floats over the body and shrouds it in vapour, The forlorn expression frozen on her face need not say more, Eyes glazed over and nimble fingers gripping his note, This is how he found her in their secret place remote. From what should have been tears of joy to ones of woe, Delayed by her Fathers assassins and too painfully slow, Escaping and dodging all their best efforts to hunt him, They had wanted him dead and twist of fate turns grim. Now he longs for the dagger or bullet or teeth on his throat, He lays her body beside him in the little boat he sets afloat, Pulls her close as if the warmth of his flesh can revive her, But not even the heart that his hers can make her pulse stir. In anguish his cries scatter the herons and summon cloud, Lightning streaks the sky and claps of thunder reign loud, Ripples rock them like when he was a baby in the cot, From lovers embrace to dead in his arms is the life he got. His open shirt is plastered against his smooth dark chest, The muscles in his arms strain as to him shes pressed, Hes hurt and in shock and unable to care beyond his pain, So without further a thought they are lost in the rain. And all that is heard is a single splash and nothing more, The lake keeps its secret with icy resolve to its very core, Some say they haunt the spot two lovers in endless torment, Others have seen two lovers hand in hand as day is spent. But a hundred years later and the lovers knot can still talk, For it calls to others as they pass by on a moonlit walk, And wonder as they sit amongst the snowdrops and celandines, Who carved it and how the web of time spins and entwines.