Mist

From the Mist

The night grows darker
The ring of a bell is heard in the distance blown by the wind
Ghostly it seems, comming from a past time that no one can remember
The mists gather together and is a gray barrier in the dark
From the mist a small girl comes out in a tattered gray dress
Bright yellow it once was, and was fair to look upon under the noon sun and her joy spread to every corner of a village,
But now her once bright blond hair is a dark brown
And her dress now a gray rag, unclean and tattered.
No joy was upon her soul now, she looks up and the villagers are frightened,
She begins to weep for they loved her once,
And although changed in body and soul, her mind still thought the same way as ever,
And the joy was there,
But never again was it seen upon the village
Or under the noon sun