I walked through dank and dripping woods,
a sullen stream for company;
whilst thunder rolled in distant hills,
for all the world was dead, save me.

Oppressive summer heat made sweat
drip from my brow as on I trod;
dark rolling clouds, humidity
had stifled birdsong, silenced God.

Long miles to go, light fading now,
a moss-grown bridge came into view;
to cross it must I make my way
back home to those I loved and knew.

Fern-framed, I saw her standing there
with raven hair and pale white  face;
her shapeless dress merged with the mist
that rose in tendrils from the race.

I started crossing that old span,
and walked towards her, brave and bold,
yet shivered as we passed mid-stream;
“Good day” she said - my blood ran cold.

And when I reached the other side
I turned to see where she might be;
but there was no one anywhere,
for all the world was dead, save me.