The Lover of Achelous

“Fheralei, oh Fheralei,” the lilies called, 

as a ghoul of a girl faced her downfall.  

Her mouth ran purple from the lack of kisses the water gave. 

“Oh River, I have come undone, for it is your lips I crave,”

Her last breaths heard no more,

As she kneeled before the river’s shore. 

His silhouette, the shadow of his physique,

Rose from Adam’s ale, with such critique 

“Let not his palm, settle your fate—

Let not your parchedness be the sake.”

A margin, seen not, for their lips sealed, 

Fheralei’s sere frame, abruptly healed, 

A question waiting on her tounge, 

Where had the hero gone? 

“Swallowed by the rapids, he disappeared,

As he always did,” the lilies shared. 

Content not, Fheralei waits for the lover,

Whose taste left her lips, nevermore.