There is reluctance in her being,
as she sets the sheets, this eve;
from what or whom, I cannot say,
just that her reluctance is plain to see.
I motion toward her, but to no avail,
she flinches, and moves along the table;
with her timid hands moving flail,
as she moves along, afraid and unstable.
I ask aloud, to catch each soul,
at the table by surprise,
it was then she said, she’s worried of,
the man who terrifies.
A man, she said, who she had seen,
more clear with every day,
A man, she said, who’s trying now,
to cause her disarray.
What man? Get in where?
These are the questions that filled the air;
and as she stepped long, and quick outside,
she left their eyes wide in a stare.
Had we just come to see
the madness underneath,
the veil this maiden wore,
through the summer, and through this cold.
Had it come to reveal, the haunting
of a man, a door, and his escape?
Or was she escaping him?