one cold winter's night of fair
i stepped outside in the blackened air.
the wind blew it's breath through my hair
and the moon had naught nairy a care.
i saw across an empty field, a maiden fair
standing there.
i quite stared in wonderment's glare,
wondering was she really there.

her gown was white; her hair was gold.
she looked to me, not very old,
and seemed to embrace the bitter cold.
i seemed to see clear thru this beauteous soul.

she knelt down as if to pray.
mesmerized was i and staid.
lingering long, was her way.
seems she had much to say.

she pulled a rose from reach of air
or was it from her golden hair?
i know not, but it was there
and she rested it down in the frozen air.

she arose and looked at me
and then i could no longer see.
sprinkled confetti of silver stars
covered her vision in brightness far.

'tis an old lore of a grave in that field
buried beneath nature and it's yield.
was she a loved one come this night
to bid farewell on her final plight?
this i do not know, but if it were true
a beautiful blessing did ensue.

i look every now and then
on blackend nights of strongest wind.
no maiden fair doth ever appear,
tho' the feeling is strong, that she is near......