There was a muttering creek at the edge of the yard,
Father said he never wanted to put a fence up,
Our yard was the animals' long before it was ours.
My sister Shelly and I would play there every day,
We'd play where the creek met the woods behind,
And dip our toes in the water, feeling the bed of clay.
It was on such a day as this that Shelly saw her,
A girl of long black hair, in the woods past the creek,
Her voice was faint, but it sounded like laughter.
Her gaze met ours and I could feel her eyes smile,
Yet neither of us came any closer to the other,
We would continue to see her every once in a while.
It was months later when Shelly broke the spell,
She crossed the creek for the very first time, as did I,
From deep within the forest we heard a knell.
The girl with black hair and the smiling eyes,
For once, I could get a closer look at her,
Her skin looked rough and coarse, her face likewise.
She was a small and scrawny thing,
Unlike me, who seemed to almost tower over her,
And her hair was like thin little strings.
Wordlessly, she led us deeper into the woods,
Further away from the creek and from home,
Never speaking a word, we somehow understood.
We came across an old well in the woods,
Made of stone brick, seemingly centuries old,
Surrounded by clusters of monkshood.
Something was terribly, terribly wrong,
The girl seemed anxious and tittered about,
Shelly did not want her unease to prolong.
She offered her help and offered her aid,
The girl indicated the cost was far too much,
Little did we know, the price was paid.
The girl stared deep into the well's darkness,
As if seeing something only she could see,
Then turned to face us, face in deep distress.
We were led back to where the woods met the creek,
Seemingly, our adventure had come to a close,
Of that girl, we never saw another peek.
We would come to the edge for every day after,
Hoping to catch another glimpse of the girl,
But we would never again hear her laughter.
Shelly tried to cross the creek to the woods,
But every time she tried, the currents raised,
As if the creek was warning us in what way it could.
We would eventually stop playing by the creek,
Our wonder gave way to melancholy,
All that was left of her was a memory.
Many years later and Shelly and I drifted apart,
It is as some siblings do, though sad,
I look at the woods and feel a well in my heart.
As of late, I've taken to watching the sky,
On purple nights like this, I still think of her,
I still think of the girl that we left behind.
theartofmadeline
kaledo-art
discoholicmusic
pixelskylines
janainaart
jacobvanloon
2087