Beneath the willow’s weeping shade,
Ophelia drifted, unafraid.
A crown of flowers graced her hair,
Yet sorrow’s weight had led her there.

The water beckoned soft and low,
Its currents pulling her to woe.
Like sin’s allure, it whispered sweet,
Yet trapped her soul beneath its feet.

Her garments heavy, drew her down,
The flow embraced her like a crown.
So too does sin, with quiet art,
Ensnare the soul, betray the heart.

The fleeting beauty she displayed,
Was like the life in sin arrayed.
A fleeting joy, a fleeting peace,
Yet death’s dark shadow will not cease.

But Christ, the Lord, has called us near,
To cast away the drowning fear.
His blood, the stream of life divine,
Redeems the heart, restores the spine.

No willow bows where grace is found,
For mercy lifts what sin has drowned.
Ophelia’s tale, though sad, may be,
A warning turned to victory.

For every heart that drifts astray,
A Savior waits to light the way.
So leave the stream, the depths, the night,
And step into His perfect light.