A vampire poem written by a bleary-eyed writer who has stayed up far, far too late at night.
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She walks in horror, all the night
Clouds of tempest veil her eyes
And all that’s dread of doom and fright
Dwell in her spectre and her sighs
To walk in death is her earthly plight
Drowned in sorrow; buried in lies.
A weightless shade, a swirling vapor
A mere whisp of a formless thing
She performs a wicked caper
Alighting like a bird on wing
While yet burns the midnight taper
He lies in peace, deep slumbering
The foul wraith thus began to weep
As there she did stare from aloft
Yet longed for life, and so did leap
With stealth of cat did tread so soft
Despite her will, great fangs sank deep
she quenched her thirst, then fled as oft
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