Swansong

A poor ferryman is crossing the quiet river
and suddenly she changed into a whirlpool.
The swing bridge is in full swing
with the east wind
and the fading twilight sky
looks like a watercolor painting.
I can hear the ferryman's whimper
who hides at all.
A dealer, poor girl's money lending uncle
who takes her cunningly to a Manor for housekeeping.
I read the ferryman's teary eyes
where it stuck the hidden words there.
'Be careful my little red riding hood
when sweeping the garden
specially under the thorn-bearing trees
don't be in barefoot.
I am waiting for you my sleeping beauty
and whatsoever I promise you to marry
in the next equinox'.

To the poetess Amanda.Lukas

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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