Do not go where the willows weep,
where river waters crawl too deep—
for there is something dressed in white
that does not leave with fading light.
She stands where no one should remain,
half lost, half born of quiet pain,
her feet untouched by mud or stone,
as though the shore were not her own.
The elders speak in hushed despair,
“Do not meet her waiting there.”
For those who pause and meet her gaze
forget the world in watery haze.
She does not call—but still you hear
a voice like something once held dear,
a lullaby that twists and bends
until it sounds like old dead friends.
The river listens when she turns,
and something in its depths still learns
to rise and mimic every breath
as if rehearsing life from death.
They say she was a girl once whole—
but water keeps what takes a soul.
And what returns, though shaped like skin,
is never what it was within.
If she should lift her hand to you,
do not believe it’s mercy too—
for every step you take her way
is one you never leave again.
The willows know. The water knows.
And every night, the river grows
more voices caught beneath the tide—
and still she waits there, open-eyed.
So turn away. Do not delay.
Do not let dusk catch where you stay.
For if she smiles, if she is near…
it means the river wants you here.
May 28
May 28, 2026 at 12:54 PM UTC
Do not go where the willows weep,
where river waters crawl too deep—
for there is something dressed in white
that does not leave with fading light.
She stands where no one should remain,
half lost, half born of quiet pain,
her feet untouched by mud or stone,
as though the shore were not her own.
The elders speak in hushed despair,
“Do not meet her waiting there.”
For those who pause and meet her gaze
forget the world in watery haze.
She does not call—but still you hear
a voice like something once held dear,
a lullaby that twists and bends
until it sounds like old dead friends.
The river listens when she turns,
and something in its depths still learns
to rise and mimic every breath
as if rehearsing life from death.
They say she was a girl once whole—
but water keeps what takes a soul.
And what returns, though shaped like skin,
is never what it was within.
If she should lift her hand to you,
do not believe it’s mercy too—
for every step you take her way
is one you never leave again.
The willows know. The water knows.
And every night, the river grows
more voices caught beneath the tide—
and still she waits there, open-eyed.
So turn away. Do not delay.
Do not let dusk catch where you stay.
For if she smiles, if she is near…
it means the river wants you here.
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