I was young those days, no virtuous ways, my paths were always faulty.

Loved solitary walks and mysterious talks in dark creepy corners.

The oncoming night was just the time right for a hearty soul appeasement.

I loved to explore, always more and more of that which seemed alien.

That night in the dark of the Alfred Park I saw her clearly standing.

She looked at my side with gaping eyes wide and smiled rather coolly.

With a look that was chilled, with amusement filled, softly did she call me.

Without any words, in a sound like a bird’s, I thought she said something.

I couldn’t but go, with much fear though, towards this unearthly creature.

In apparels bright, she seemed quite a sprite, as towards a pond she led me.

Though I never relied, I was so tongue tied; I quietly followed her that way.

She walked through the park, nimbly as a lark, feet scarcely touching ground.

I kept to her pace, with signs on my face, of God knew where I was going?

When she reached the pond, she glimpsed once beyond, and quietly slid into it.

Not a drop she displaced, no ripples surfaced; she did slowly sink in.

For hours I waited, then left slowly gaited, wondering how she had departed.

Next morning again, in spite of the rain, I was there; weeds were growing.

Was it just a dream, as it would now seem that I had been having?

Or was it grave stuff, not noticed enough by visitors there before me?

But nothing I saw either ripe or raw to lead me on towards her.

Next night I returned, with desire I burned to see that spirit again there.

And lo she was there, as still as an air, that moves not a leaf on a tree.

Near a tree tall, she stood there to call me again towards the same place.

I moved in a trance, as though just by chance, to where she had vanished.

History repeated, I felt rather cheated, I burned to know more about her.

With increased desire, my curiosity on fire I crept back there one morning.

I heard then a sound, though no one I found, someone was clearly there.

The sunlight became, pink purple in game, and I watched it change around me.

Through the weeds appeared a hand much smeared with blood, it wore a bangle.

It pointed inward, wanted to be heard. Something it wanted to tell me.

Some weeds it cleared, and there appeared a passage through which I could see.

What I saw on the floor was a sight full of gore, her body lay there rotting.

I could feel my hair just stand up in air and my heart seemed to gallop.

I ran out from there in search of fresh air and found another who heard me.

Then people came with stories of blame, about who she must have been.

Little was found on the leaf covered ground, to give a trace of her story.

Much has been said, of the living and dead, much has sprightly been spoken.

But till now none knows whether lily or rose, was cankered by a creeper.