The twilight skies are falling over the night.
Her grave lays quietly just barely out of sight.
The evening turns the sky into black.
Black crows will wait until the sun's first crack.
She was alive for so many years.
Her funeral shed so many tears.
The roses at her coffin a day old.
The temperature of her blood was so cold.
She rises up from her grave to meet the night.
Her dress still looks like the day she was buried.
The roses from around her grave are still fresh.
The moonlight is still bright as she wonders about.
What a morbid night for the rising dead to come alive.
The trees are accepting of her waking in the graveyard.
Her gravestone is allowing her to remain undead.
For such a quiet cemetery, the dead girl walks with crisp movement.
How is that such a year of her passing would allow her body to walk?
Why is it that her soul and mind are not part of this curious body?
For whatever reason she walks in the night sky in the graveyard,
we must accept her ghost as it is the afterlife of her life in this world.
This lonely soul walks through the cemetery all night long.
All we can do is write down our thoughts, and sing a song.