Poor Maidens

The sun is rising in the Eastern sky, its rays cutting the early morning mist. To shine on the inky black waters cried, by fallen maidens to an unjust fist Why have they been beaten so hard they break. Causing such pain and sorrow as to cry, for an eternity to spawn a lake. Not seen by night or serf as they pass by. Its not their fault time has taken their looks they become knurly and twisted with age. To wander the forest to hide their shame. Until time takes their life and their rage. But their masters, the Ogres, life is long Beauty is their lust and young their desire.