You will know when the right moment arrives
When your pleas for assistance are ignored
When every petty, wicked fool contrives
To turn sweet life into a thing abhorred
When no earthly agent offers you aid
When what was legible is gibberish
Then, of your sorrow, something can be made
That seems at home in visions, feverish
Ancient waters can spawn strange, new offspring
An eldritch invitation is called for
If the right humble, lonesome song you sing
The water sprite will rise, and what is more
By rising, it will show that earthly woes
Can be dismissed by what a spirit knows
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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