Winding down the ashen way, threadbare rugs, weave dismay.
Simmering candles, floating light, somewhere distant a woman cries.
Mist falls thick outside the walls, treacherous hoofbeats like thunder call.
She cries no more as fear looms near, her dream is becoming somewhat real.
Her breath quickens and heart races with each guided step she hears.
Suddenly silence brings truth to her door, her lover is dead, he is no more.
Copyright . Carol L. Zuber 2000