November Dreary

One November dreary I saw her.
Though I never knew her name,
and all the while she seemed familiar
never a word she spoke.

Upon the weathered sand she stood,
her face adorned in bright calavera finesse.
Patterns of haunting design marked her face,
dressed in colorful vintage flamenco dress.
Alone and solemnly she stood staring,
holding a marionette of stark white and nameless sugar skulls in one hand
and a group of bright red and orange marigolds and camillias in the other.

Upon the sands she stood there staring,
like she was waiting for a candle or thought
to light the way.
The air around her was shaking and chilled.
As though it would bury her beneath the stones
or leave her cold.

I watched her, stood staring,
waiting or watching for something.
I felt it had to stop.
When finally somewhere in the distance
I heard the sound of the clock strike,
four o'clock.

The sound of trick or treating ended
and with a rush of wind and clap of thunder
down came the rain and with it washing away
the image of the sugar skull woman.
Swirls and twirls of colors and petals melting away,
sweet smell of sugar carried away by the strongest winds.

Another November dreary,
I'll hope to see her upon the weathered sand.
dressed in vintage flamenco dress,
her face adorned in bright calavera finesse.
Patterns of haunting design marking her face,
holding a marionette of stark white and nameless sugar skulls in one hand
and a group of bright red and orange marigolds and camillias in the other.