Under the Light gleams the River Parish,
 Where hope and virtue soon turn to Perish.
 Upon the top sits a boat of hard wood,
 A piece of earth for swimming, understood.

The dark River enchants and conjures toil,
 Enchanting all and leading those to fall.
 She is a manipulative sinner,
 She will rot until wood turns to wicker.

Awakened from the ground he sits there proud,
 Where trees’ wood is not usually found.
 He warms in the Light, taken for granted,
 Longing to sleep with the River, frantic.

But what if he should drown,
 His lover drags him down?
 She caresses all matter,
 Ignoring the latter.

It will destroy him, inexorably,
 A heavy load of curiosity.
 Over the River, the Light will still shine,
 Their recrudescence forgotten with time.

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