The Woman In Black
She can claw mark
With her fingernails
Her daily menstrual
Running blood and wild
For vampires alike
Once she made fire
With her eagle claws
A tangled and matted mop
In torn and ripped black.
The high street welcomes her
Laying out a welcoming mat
Her height was short
And her heels so tall,
Her head touched the sky.
She was so thin and lanky
But not bright at all
Being curious in smoke,
The flames burn hope
With rings of solid gold
There's not much to her,
Just a cat that's black with fur.
Keep away because she smells
Of you know what, I won't tell.
Why she stinks like the local brewer,
She not only looks like hell
But dwells like the local sewer.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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