Sirens

A pale shimmer in the dark night,
A glint of gold in the sun.
With her beauty told,
has the war not been won?
Oh the sorrow life must be,
to possess such a beauty.
How lonely she must be,
with the dead for her company.
Into the water she retreats,
hair spilling out like rain.
Too the deep she must go,
right back out to the sea.





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