Poet #Sixteen

A tale that is quite often told
At midnight when there is a storm
Is that of Old Edie McLee:
A most scary ghost without form

Her moans are the leaves in the wind,
Her hair is the cobwebs, her eyes
Have black pits where there should be whites.
To see her’s a nasty surprise.

She haunts the old house on the hill -
The one where the shadows are deep.
You don’t want to end up inside,
Since there death is certain as sleep.

Her moans are the leaves in the wind,
Her hair is the cobwebs, her eyes
have black pits where there should be whites.
To see her’s a nasty surprise.

She whispers a curse to her prey
Which works if they don’t end up dead.
At midnight on each New Year’s Eve,
They’ll dream of a lone floating head.

Her moans are the leaves in the wind,
Her hair is the cobwebs, her eyes
have black pits where there should be whites.
To see her’s a nasty surprise.

I saw her one night as I slept
And this was a terrible fright
The chills that she sent down my spine
Will haunt me each day and each night

Her moans are the leaves in the wind,
Her hair is the cobwebs, her eyes
have black pits where there should be whites.
To see her’s a nasty surprise.

I warn you, this isn’t a joke.
This lady exists, walks the earth.
She travels so silent, like mist
And laughs at our fear in her mirth.

Her moans are the leaves in the wind,
Her hair is the cobwebs, her eyes
have black pits where there should be whites.
To see her’s a nasty surprise...

The End

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