Elithene
Elithene
The river nymph she calls to me in her fluid tones
of bubbling ecstasy.
Her echo soaking each flower and frond, every stone she strokes with lithesome bond.
Living grace of life and light, calling, singing
the day and the night.
At her feet, froth, as stiffened lace,
flowing down in tiered
liquid space.
And at her neck there rises a rapid frill
of foaming white
in overspill.
How I love her!
and name her mine
for all her ethereal quiver
For she is that which knows no time
She is Elithene, nymph of the river.
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