She is the ghost in the cool wet wheat field
Fog like form flowing gracefully past me
Leaving a smoking trail like a cumulus tail
Within the mist I manage to see
A fraction of the beautiful woman she use to be
Hair once fair black dissipates
Like vapors from a brick chimney stack
Strange eyes which once held an unrelenting light
Have lost their sparkle turning charcoal
And cold as December winter’s night
The harmonious voice that once tamed demons
And lifted the spirits of heartbroken angels
Has now become a mournful moan
I move to call her name but fear silences me
My lips barely part pleading to my dear Sharne
Please oh, oh please come back to me today
Or let me join you till we become
Duel shadow walkers down this dark corridor