Sunday, March 16, 2014

As the curtains swayed to a chilly draft
Her hands of the softest silk
Her shadow a ghost of the night

Dark and pale
Against the misty grey
Lay bared she, a lifeless but intoxicating sight

Her flowing white gown, caressing white marble
As she glided along, the hillside castle

Fleeing in the moonlit corridors
From an inevitable fate
The signs of death, so subtle

No walls did speak
Neither soldier nor servant
In life alone
In death alone

Her king shed a tear or two
In a ray of light
His hand though, red shone

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