A tiny figure full of fright,                                                                                                         
Crosses the moors in the pale moonlight.

Across the stones, through heather and gorse,                                                                          
She carries a heart so full of remorse.

She loved a man, a weak one -it’s true,                                                                                           
 And he loved her, but she never knew.

Through the rocks and to the sand,                                                                                           
And on the shore; all night to stand.

Watching and waiting with lamp held high,                                                                          
Searching the shore for ships gone by.

All in the village have spied this lass,                                                                                                   
And all hold their breath when near she does pass.

The tale has been told, many times before,                                                                                       
Of why she walks nightly down to the shore.

The story is one of fortune and fame,                                                                                             
And the man she loved but could not claim.

His was the family that kept them apart,                                                                                         
Tore him in two and broke his heart.

The lovers never could marry his parents declared,                                                                       
So he sailed on the “Sovereign” to see how he fared.

But the ship was cursed with sickness one day,                                                                            
And all on board did pass away.

So on sailed the “Sovereign” night after night,                                                                             
And no one knew of their terrible plight.

Years went by and his family mourned,                                                                                           
The tiny lass, still they scorned.

She kept her vigil week after week,                                                                                              
Down at the shore, her lover to seek.

They looked for him always; the lass and his child,                                                                              
As they lived alone, on the moors so wild.

Then one day they gave up the ghost,                                                                                                 
And both went home to the Heavenly Host.

And though it’s been ages (and perhaps even more),                                                                     
She still walks nightly down to the shore.

Still she searches the waves and the reef,                                                                                         
And shines her lamp to hide her grief.

The tale is told of that fateful day,                                                                                                 
When the “Sovereign” finally comes to bay.

Three ghosts will walk in the moonlight mild,                                                                                       
A man, his maid, and their little child.

~~K.L.Richardson