Sunday, 10 August 2008 at 17:45
Night falls on the marble forest so still,
to let you taste of its haunted, sweet thrill,
it happened this way, and it always will.
The stone carved minstril began to play,
his mandolins song did not too far stray,
till the wind came to call and took it away.
The angelof marble then began to dance,
all watched with more than a fleeting glance,
somewhere two lovers will die for romance.
The stone minstril played his song as I said,
the angel danced with a bow of her head,
and I, the conductor of the dance of the dead.
(c) Sharon L. Hall