I have been here all my life,

I never had the chance to be a wife.

My visitors are my only strife.

Some of them say,

they hear me wail,

I find myself kicking up a gail.

Some of them come calling my name,

when I answer they don’t ask again.

some of them backing out to soon,

shouting out get a whiff of that.

I try to hold their hands,

but they fear me.

I am no longer alive,

my ghost is all that survives.

My story is a lonely tale.

Locked in my room until my death,

destined to wander only my prison domain,

only to find the results are the same.

Lavender is what I loved best,

it’s sweet aroma fills the air,

I like to share.

Sometimes it’s to much for them to bare,

they can smell it every were.

I am not alone when they come to my home.