banshee
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There is always mystery that abounds
When she walks
Her light footsteps are
Shrouded in a forlorn mist
Her shoulders hunched
In resignation of her doomed fate
Raindrops hasten from her mournful eyes
She sits on a stone wall, combing her hair;
Humming a tune old as time,
Familiar, yet no one knows it
Old and frail or young and beautiful
She is never the same twice
