The grey of the fog turning on the water like a sprite dancing
Stretching out its tendrils like a beast reaching
In the whirl a form slowly comes and goes
Mushrooms? Maybe a stick, oh wait are those…. Toes?
A foot bare except for the caked on mud that clings
The fog thins and slowly reveals more of the scene
Calf so pale in the dim light, or maybe not
The litter of leaves cover the insidious spot
Pushing the litter back a form starts to appear
Eyes hollow, glazed, filled with a final fear
Tattered dress offers no cover in this final place
Bruises and blood cover the once angelic face
Marks of a struggle mar the ashen flesh all over
Was it a villain, a predator, or a jilted lover?
Truth is that this was no accident that happened
Her body the object of something partially planned
A locket still attached around the bruised throat
Only the faint smell of death, the body yet to bloat
The snap of a twig, dark sunken eyes now in view
A tip of the hat, the predator comes into view
The cloak pulled tight to not reveal the true form
Still in all it was old tattered and well worn
Looking on as if gazing at a lover sleeping in bed
So many questions fill my spinning head
A large sack he now takes out of his black bag
Leaning down he caresses the ever still head
Hands push away the debris laying all about
Tenderly picking up the form and kissing its mouth
With care he puts the prize in the bag and lifts
Turning again towards me and with another hat tip
The fog rolls in and swallows the scene
Was it real or was it just a dark dream?