The siren wails her mahogany hair, ruby lips curled back
In knowing contempt
For he can and will come gladly to his doom
Enchanted by the pale white skin
Urgent calling on the wind for assistance it seems
Not seeing her scorn as final warning
Of his own impending demise
He realises just before it’s too late to turn back
So hypnotised by her smiling sneer
There is nowhere else to turn
And the only thing visible from shore is a figure eyes wide
Arm waving or maybe drowning
In the murky waters a moment and then sucked under
Tricked by glamour to his own end.
Ailsa
©AilsaCawleyPoetry2016
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