Alone she sat to write her tale
By candlelight as the moon shone pail
Outside the wind blew through the tree
A chilling wind born out at sea
The words she wrote as to confess
To try and still her restlessness
Her story began to flow like waves
Its meaning cold like ancient graves
Up she rose to make some tea
About the time the clock struck three
With cup in hand she went outside
Down to the shore to great the tide
Her snow white gown glowed in the night
And soon her figure was gone from sight

I'm in some sort of an oddball mood lately, maybe it's because I am getting over a cold. I mean to write more but am a bit low in the time and energy department.
Hope you are all doing well