The Woman in Grey

The woman in grey, oft have I seen her.
The legends attend but poorly their duty.
Mournful ballads serve but to demean her,
For words cannot fully describe her beauty.

I feel the chill of her cold spectral presence.
Her evil intent is to fill me with dread,
But I welcome the light of her ghostly essence
When I see my breath oer my sweat-soaked bed.

The one thing that all the tales get right
Is the way her laughter echoes and carries.
I noted it first on that hideous night
When I nobly asked for her hand in marriage.

My woman in grey endeavors to haunt me
While my unfed passion for her still burns me.
Alive she contrived to torment and taunt me,
But from the grave she shall not spurn me.

She is mine! And her mocking I answered well.
Choked it off by my hands around her sweet throat.
And I’ll pursue her through all the halls of hell,
For tomorrow I welcome the hangman’s rope