Mistress of my dead priest.



Royally draped in silks of saffron

You serenade outside my window

You flutter about, begging for attention

Come what may, your praises must flow!



And they did flow, thrice a day

Thrice a day, he did bow

Father to my son, my husband

My moon and my sun, the reverend



Now you invade my house, in waves and crashes

Frantically searching, screaming for him

Your prayers will not be said, he has turned to ashes

Still, you search and search on a whim


Here’s a little story, child of the light

When you were gone and the hour was night,

His heart stopped beating, his eyes closed too tight

And now they wont open, go on try your might


I told you, little child of the light

Your prayers will go unsaid, it only serves you right

A widow’s curse, a widow’s plight

Is not another device of your delight


He was yours heart and soul

All I wanted was with him to get old

All I needed was for you to hold

His breath in him, a little longer, to keep him from getting cold.


You’ll come back every morning

And I’ll be sitting in your wake

You’ll see me sighing and mourning

And you will dread your fate.












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