The Lady

I wrote this one night after reading a some online creepy and supernatural real-life accounts.

The lady spins with whispered silks

At her wooden wheel

Spinning out of time and yet so delicate to feel

I spy her glimpse through doorways

As I'm turning half away

I catch her dress as it slinks by
But never seems to stay


The lady sits before the glass and slowly combs her hair

Before I catch her and she turns

To seal me then and there

In the shock grip of vacant, icy and so glassy stare

And so I must admit at last

The lady isn't there.