Black Flower

The old house is barely standing,
Almost no one lives there now,
Only voiceless groans at nighttime,
And shadows on the prowl.

Stories are told of a young lady,
Her husband had an affair,
Tells a tale of a twisted body,
Found at the bottom of stairs.

After dusk the moonlight shows,
A smile on the face of a girl,
Floating silently by the window,
A black flower in golden curls.

Strangely, I’m not afraid,
Of this girl in silk with lace,
The flower suggests a sadness,
With tears in the smile on her face.