From whence she came I do not know,
with silken hair and silent talk.
Still she comes to Waverly
to tread the towers widow's walk
Gown of wispy silk and wringing
of her young and supple hands.
At night she cries while looking out to sea,
across the barren lands,
No peace has she in her death so long ago,
laid to rest she did not stay.
Came she back to wait for him,
though he had long since gone away
The sea had claimed his young and hope filled life,
He left her behind not to return
to his loving ghostly wife.
To this day if you listen
when clock strikes nine and three.
You can hear the grieving sobs,
of the ghost of Waverly.
© Norma Marek ~ 13 July 2001
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