THE GIRL IN THE GARDEN

 The Girl in the Garden

A father’s pride, a father’s wall,
Enclosed the grounds of Bosworth Hall.
But love grew wild beyond the gate,
Unaware of iron, unaware of hate.

She stepped where shadows softly lie,
Beneath a cold and Leicester sky.
The steel was hidden, the trap was set,
For a lover’s foot she had not met.

The snap of jaws, the cry of pain,
Her crimson blood like summer rain.
The gardener’s son she sought to see,
Now haunts the roots of the chestnut tree.

The Grey Lady

She is a song the Watersons sing,
A ghostly breath, a winter thing.
Nineteen years was all she stayed,
Before the debt of blood was paid.

She walks the halls in a dress of mist,
With a heavy heart and a broken wrist.
Through the library door and the moonlit stair,
You’ll feel the chill of her golden hair.

The 4th Baronet, in his robes of stone,
Left his daughter to die alone.
But though they buried her deep in the clay,
Anna Dixie will never stay away.