03 Shawna L
Her face is like the dead;
grinning through bone and cheek.
And in her starry shade of moonlight;
and in my dreams we meet...
She hangs the devils grin,
and dances wildly to the sing-song
of the wind, and swingly rapidly
to a pace so soft and steady.
She reels me in.
And death seems so pleasing,
drowning and not reaching,
for a hand to pull me free.
From this dream of the lady,
that casteth her eye on thee.
And a melody so serenly,
does thee come creeping.
To dance and make merry,
on the Moon where she doth lie.
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