Midnight was in her raven hair,
But I saw not her shape-
She rode with the fury of hell at her back,
And a locket chained at her nape.
And the beat of the hooves, and the billows of breath,
Was the rhythm of her escape.
I spent the evening with a friend,
And as I tarried late,
I took the wooded shortcut home
To the back of my garden gate,
And there I stood, and there she passed,
The crossings of the fates.
viewingcamelot 
August 15th, 2013 at 10:33 pm
[ Smiles ] Beauty combined with simplicity!
August 15th, 2013 at 11:02 pm
Thank you!
August 15th, 2013 at 11:03 pm
[ Smiles ] You are welcome!