Her

Her skin glows pale Like the bright crescent light Up above Her hair hangs darker Than the dead of night And puts black holes To shame Her just-as-dark dress Is not new And completes her witchy look Her monochromatic eyes, Though gray and pale, Are deep, And it is hard to discern Her concealed thoughts, For her expressions Cannot be read, And she rarely says a word Her gaze burns brighter Than the sun It is steady, Never breaking Her mouth is twisted, Mottled by scars Left from when her lips were stitched, Holding back her hateful words Now she is careful, But sometimes she is heard Singing sweet songs And lilting lullabies For those who wander by, Toss a dime in the Wishing Well Late at night, Alone, And lean over the edge To whisper her name, Then hear her respond In murmuring melodies, Silencing them to sedentary sleep, Where they stay Forevermore