down by the river

[DieterM]

her hair, lank and sombre,
curtained her eyes,

her fingers curled the icy water
rushing by, never the same,

she was singing with her
chalk-white, trembling voice,

everything changed,
she sang of times gone by,

of children she’d never born,
of lovers she’d never left,

of summers she’d never lived,
of dogs she’d never walked,

the river gurgling like a
choked string orchestra,

and then,
with the fogs rising,

her face melted and her
voice broke like a fragile

icicle

[Delta40]

And then,
As the fog was rising

Would read better. Not sure about icicle either. You got me thinking it could just as easily have been some soft earth.