Pitiful Dress

She’s walking, and it’s dark out.

It has begun to get colder.

She was always quite the loner.

The river is damp and blue.

I wish I had never met you.

When she finally breaks in two,

She falls like a vaporous

And golden drop of bloody tears.

She tumbled down the hill for years.

The river is cold and fresh,

It’s eating at her cold, white flesh,

And rips at her pitiful dress.