Her Hand

Rushing rivers on the windy tide,
Flowing so lightly, finding my bride,
Taking this chance to find true love,
Sending sweet kisses to her by a peaceful dove,

The tears that she cries,
One truly pure,
Thou love do not die,
Thee love so true and sure,

The water runs faster to save thou loves life,
One who has always depended on a sharp forbidden knife,
Unfortunately thy dove was just a moment to late,
Deaths hand had already made her fate.

©Samantha Jayne Reed
Wrote on May 12th, 2005