One Moonlit Night

Beneath a full moon, looming bright, thus steeped in dread and full of gloom,
my quiv’ring quill would soon entomb words woven through mind's manic loom.
Ink dripped like blood as came the flood of woeful words, like dying buds
a lover leaves soaked in a vase— ‘twas then I spied her ghostly face.

 
As pasty white as moonlit night, she whispered of such pain and blight.
I felt her plight, and wrote, despite, the thrills and chills I felt that night.
Long shadows cast on tombstones, vast, within that cemetery gate—
inspired, at last, yet quite aghast, whilst she conveyed her bitter fate.

 
Her malady, as such, deadly, tuberculosis stole her life.
She bade me see her spectral plea, to be her husband’s loving wife.
“When did you die,” thus whispered I, “how long ago, my dear, and why?”
I watched her cry, as, by and by, she sang this soulful lullaby…

 
“‘Twas long ago, so long ago, death came for me—I had to go.
I tarried so, how could I know? I longed to stay, and yet, although...
‘twas time to go, my time to go, I begged to stay, the answer— “NO!”.
Thus, here am I,” she breathed a sigh—quite odd for one like her, thought I.

 
Soon came a scream; my self-esteem was shattered there ‘neath moonlights beam.
I’d slept, it seemed, and thus had dreamed, but felt, somehow, my soul, redeemed.
The virgin reams of paper gleamed, as white as alabaster’s sheen—
no words were there, the pages, bare, I hurried home, ‘twas quite a scare…

 
Candles lit, I sit and ponder, echoing like peals of thunder
thing’s she’d said, which cause me wonder, had my soul been ripped asunder?
Candleflame begins to flicker whilst I pour a glass of liquor.
Quill starts moving, quick and quicker, suddenly I hear her snicker…

 
“Hello, my love, it was me, there in the graveyard, ‘neath the tree
where thou slept, so dreamily—and now, my sweet, I’ve come for thee.”
I took her hand, she smiled sweetly, as off we went, my love and me.
Lost love, my bride, and I, her groom, departed from an empty room.