The arms of darkness, cloaked me in a blanket so chill;
I kissed the road and moved ahead, the same pace, the same race.
My motion strapped, I spooked, deaden over silence;
Feet ahead and there she stood, invisible, yet so Visible.
Wrapped in black, to a stick she clinged,
Tressed fuzzy hair, from the face they swayed,
Not a statue. A woman, with bones, no flesh.
The days of age have long left, the fate of sorrow, on her face.

There stood an eerie, scary el daemon
Half stooping, to her stick she clung,
And the head, held up and straight;
Her eyes kept still;
Neither it blinked, nor it stir.
What is she, woman? I said no.
She is a hag. A dirty scary crone.

I saw a daemon, I told as I hustled home.
She haunted me and woke me at night.
I thought I drank water, but I spit it for blood.
She could be on my window. I trembled and feared.
I closed myself tight, and slept. Or did I?

Was she always there, or that I never saw.
For I saw her, the next day and on all days then.
Slowly the fear was it gone;
I moved closer as I walked past her.
A glimpse of her face, and it stung me hard.

Next day I slowed, and moved more close.
There stood an eerie, scary el daemon
I must be joking. She is a human.
I saw her eyes and they were so dull;
I saw her hair so curled like whorl.
The gods were pleased, while she was made.
For a sculpture, would still, delight her curves.

She’s not a daemon, I told as I strolled home.
She haunted me again, and woke me up.
Her eyes once would have been so bright,
Her hair once would have been so smooth.
I wished to see her outside my window,
I let myself loose, and slept. Or did I?

Take me back across years,
Take me back across time;
Till I see her, in her youth and young.
Not less than a fairy, more than a charmer.
How would her smile, reflect her eyes;
How would the wind, slip off her hair.

Let me see the men;
Who waited her glimpse.
Let me smell the breeze;
That brushed past her hair.
Did she smell of sandal,
Or did she smell of flowers.

Today she dwells, like a daemon,
Among the rats, beside the dogs,
Licked by the cats, smelled by the pigs,
I just get a feel, she has a story,
A story, that could make me weak.
A story, that would make me cry.

Let me move ahead.
And wait for her death.
The solace of calmness, bestow her soon.

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