She floats above the village streets at night In search of some forgotten tale of old Her ghostly form is beautiful and white Her ghostly tale is one that's often told
Her life became the sorrow of remorse Her death became the sorrow all can feel A ghostly essence runs its ghostly course A hidden tale the teller can reveal
The teller of her tale this time is me I saw her in the village where I live She seemed to know the tale she sought to be In me she found a teller she could give
Her tale of unrequited love and more Of life and death, a dark unopened door.
This entry was posted on Monday, November 11th, 2024 at 1:42 pm and is filed under Sonnets. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
