ophelia's last lover

Was the river that carried her madness

To its natural end. 

    But what’s not said in the myths

Is how the river tried its best to assuage

The rotten claws of death

To leave her body looking lithe

And full of life up until

The sea could swallow it whole.

Not for nothing. Not for no one,

The river felt it was a shame

That beauty could be swallowed whole

By death as soon as breath went stale.

In its own way, it wanted to be a poet,

And lacking hands, or even a voice,

It tried the next best thing it had,

Magic, and undid death for a bit.

Though no one saw it. Except the nymphs.