Death of Woolf

My lady, my lady, why did you go?
Why’d you go down to the River Ouse?
You waded in,
after singing your songs.
Why did you go? Why did you go?
Your red skirt flared around your skinny legs,
Mermaid-like, tangled in the waterweed
Your pockets filled,
your face white and smooth.
Why did you go? Why did you go?

Did you find her?
Did you find her down there,
did you clutch her pretty skull
in your stiffening hands,
cold fingers tangled in her hair?
Was she one of the voices
that whispered to you:
come down, come down, come down
all the years?

How you rushed into, dove into
That single moment you could never dream of:
That single song you could never sing
Your love consummated beneath death’s cloak
Finally blind to the ripple of life
Finally blind to the waves.