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She followed from her shadowed grave,
Their footsteps one by one,
Not knowing she was once their slave—
Who long ago was scorned.

Her quickened steps in stride forth-with;
No more in life is chained—
In death has found herself herewith;
New speed she has obtained.

Not feeling earth’s kind hands of health,
Her heart had broken down,
As she bemoaned that life itself—
Took the breath of ‘Her Son’.

Now an angry ghost walks at night,
And guards a lonely grave;
Then by day she’s a parasite—
To those who called her slave.

Beware to those unheeded ones,
Who walk two steps ahead,
Yet feel the weight of a tomb stone;
Don’t let it go unsaid—

It’s but the one who long ago,
If you’ll but recollect;
The one you called ‘Your Calico’,
Who died a broken wreck;

On one dark night, depressed and tired,
She found a piece of rope,
And tied it to ‘Your Thoroughbred’,
Atop an angled slope.

Now she follows from a sad grave—
Any footsteps that come,
She is still the unknowing slave—
You long ago dared scorn;

Her quickened steps no longer now,
As she flies free again;
Death has unchained her heart, and now,
Fresh hate she has regained.

So when you feel constraints of hate,
Grasp tight around your neck;
It’s only the hands of ‘Old Kate’,
Performing ‘Her Own Hex’.
Any Form Goes:
Ballad Stanza 10. © 6/2010.
Host: George_langley George

By Jean Elizabeth Ward

© 2010 Jean Elizabeth Ward (All rights reserved)


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This Poem is part of a Challenge: Anything Goes - AG (challenge has been closed)

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