Arthur
Mysterious as the night,
Shadowy figure of towering height,
Eyes of black, perhaps contrite,
He walks in starlight.
The night is fine,
As the oaks intertwine.
From a window of mine,
I watch him pass the vine.
Sleep is not imminent,
In this hour of discontent,
When thoughts won't relent.
I am anguish. I am torment!
The clock says three.
Nightingale sings in tree.
In my soul, there's little harmony.
In my heart is a plea.
When red sun's gone down,
Sometimes Arthur haunts the town.
In silence we drown.
Torn wedding gown!
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