A bit of poetry from the WIP

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I’m playing a lot more with poetry than I ever have in fiction before. My current WIP revolves around it a bit, and it’s fun to work those muscles, as I haven’t often done so. Here’s a taste. It feels a bit raw to me, but it’ll give you an idea of the rhyme and meter I’m shooting for.

A girl who walks upon the shore,
A woman not yet grown;
She breathes the air of discontent,
Her life is not her own.

She calls upon the river swell,
She wades into the flow;
Wondrous swift it bears her south,
A seed by wind is blown.

She lands upon a distant bank,
A place she doesn’t know;
She looks upon her withered hands,
Not maiden, nor matron, but crone.

This is a poem that my main character, Çeda, finds written on the arm of one of her sister Blade Maidens, a woman who despises Çeda (for reasons that will go unsaid). But in this the two of them have something in common, and they connect, however briefly.