Monday, 28 March 2011

Her Curse. By Storm Griffiths.

The dead awaken at her birth
Foul creatures of the earth
Devoid of love and with no mirth
Can she rid herself of this curse?
Elongated shadows over her loom,
Warning her of impending doom
And darkness envelopes the moon
Will she rid herself of this curse?
A dark hunter, tall and lean,
From a distance hears her scream
Together they will find a team
To rid herself of this curse.

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