Phantasmagoria
As my doleful gaze upon thy form hath fallen,
Garbed in the fashion of sadness or mourning,
Nightly tresses thy sombre tone adorning,
Decadent and beauteous, as a Seraph fallen.
A woebegone faerie with wings lost and broken,
Enshrouded in blackness, a sepulchral lady,
With thy pallid skin and thy heart so shady,
Thou art a graveyard angel who seldom has spoken.
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