Siren of the Canyon

By Anonymous

Under the moonlight, in the silver morning,

'Neath the flying rivers of the thicket,

Where the water striders are a-swarmin',

Amidst the orchestra of crickets,

Where spiders are spinning their dew-filled webs,

Where the salamanders are a-slitherin',

When the nightly prayers are done and said,

When the ducks are no longer bickering,

A lady in red will come down to the stream,

Her hair a rusted copper,

A scene between memory and a dream,

This lady by the water.

Her skin, a fair opal pale,

Her hair, long and curled,

Wearing the moonlight as a veil,

As she breaths to the breath of the world.

Icy mud under her fingernails,

Her eyes, a glistening gold,

She'll sing for all the slugs and snails,

For the newts and all the toads,

She'll sing for the wide-eyed owl ,

And the skittish, whimpering hare,

For the family of resting sparrows,

And the big, sleepy bear.

She'll sing her soulful tunes on the edge of the moonlit water,

And if you ever see her, she'll sing for a sleepless traveler.