Tragic

“Anne, are you killed?

Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains

the hard, yellow road-bed?”

She died ��� this was the way she died.

With a terrific, loud, animal sob, like that of a heart-stricken moose.

Though in life I used to hug her, now she’s dead I draw the line.

Alas, poor ghost!

No rest, no peace. Incessant torture of remorse!

And they got very cocky, and went about saying you were done for this time! You would never come back again, never, never!”

���Surely,��� said I, ���surely that is something at my window lattice;

It’s only imagination. Low spirits and nothing else.

“For God’s sake, don’t let it in!”

..

Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah.”

I saw on the YeahWrite website that they were doing a poetry slam this month involving centos, which is where you take lines from other works to create a new story. This was fun, although it ended up in a creepier place than I expected. .