Soft falls the snow on Blythway cottage, the river below a ribbon of ice

To stand under the bridge, an observer might sigh how nice

But the snow blocks the sounds of desperate crying

horrid scream of a woman’s will and spirit dying

Of the forced love expiring

The lover’s brow perspiring

Wraps her in a sheet of linen

As off to the river is a given

He hammers at the ice so to break

A watery burial space in the river make

Done, gone free, safe . . . but for one small failing

Scarf of white stained pink caught on the ice . . . trailing

Soft falls the snow on Blythway cottage, the river below a ribbon of ice

To stand on the bridge, an observer would sigh and say how nice

For Thursday photo prompt – Lights #writephoto. Unfortunately, after observing the picture the 2nd two lines popped in my head, so it was dastardly doggerel rhyme thyme.

My Frilly Freudian Slip is the joining together to two of my blogs: phylor’s blog (or tale weavering) and adh [a darkened house]. Hope folks stop by to see the new digs.

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