A strange wind across the aisles
of and old and gloomy place,
a place of windows and doors,
with a chill that froze her smile.
In a corner of a big saloon,
lied the silent piano and harp,
a shadow slipped through the time
and woke the dead notes back to life.
Upon the black looking glass
reflected a ghost dressed in white,
a lost soul with sorrow pale
that walked in the tunnel of time.
See the image outside,
amongst the damp ivy asleep
green mosses covered her face
white roses are dead in her hands.
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