Author's Note: I'm working on a project where I comb through my mother's old work (she passed in 2015) and "co-write" them. I thought that it could be an interesting exercise, and I hope to someday publish the collection as a collaborative work. Any critique is much appreciated, I'm only a hobbyist. Thanks! -NightShift
Crows cry out when she walks by.
Gray clouds scar the gloomy sky.
Old women whisper. Children run.
Something wicked this way comes.
Though her heart is bitter cold,
her beauty evokes tales of old.
Warnings down the years were told
of evil she brings, of power she holds.
She preys on weakness fear and trust;
devours hatred, pain, and lust.
She will return, as autumn must,
when summer dies, decays to dust.
But as it comes, evil will go.
When winter’s here, she’ll flee the snow.
Beware the beauty dressed in black;
those who follow don’t come back.
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