Best Travelold Poems
Gypsy Rose Of Mystic Seaport
She was known as the Gypsy Rose of
Mystic Seaport by the tourists.
She would read their palms and
sing them old sea dog songs
from long ago.
But every now and then, the fairest rose
to skirt around town would strangely
go missing. Not so strange to the inhabitants
of this old sea town, because we knew
of her witchy ways,
this mysterious sea wench.
Her preference wasn’t distinctive.
No, she liked blondes, red heads,
brunettes even a few early grey headed lasses too,
she even liked the ones that wore thick black,
chunky eye glasses.
But they were all young and rather shapely,
that was her only vice.
She wore a wig as her disguise, but she would
drink their blood or do bizarre Wiccan tricks on them,
like give them colorful butterfly wings.
But every time that devious,
statuesque witch was through with these tourist ladies,
she would snap their necks and leave their limp and bloodless
bodies at the edge of the Mystic Ocean Cemetery,
where the candles were lit with a red glow every night.
Our Gypsy Rose had bewitched
them until they grew cold,
so we are told.
This is fiction. I'm in a storytelling mood tonight. It's a story of a sea witch.