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Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #2172826
This is an account of one of those magical winter evenings that I spent with my Grandma.

On the freezing winter evenings, after our parents retired to bed,

my old Nana used to regale us with the tales unsaid.

Shrunken tiny thing she was, with her half moon spectacles and her snowy white,  flowing hair.

To say that i once thought that she was either a fairy or a witch,

would be fair.

One such evening,  in that old, dusty fireplace's light,

She told us the tale of ' the weeping maiden of the night. '

" She was a gift from the gods, her beauty was divine,

Her kindness, compassion, her laughter would make your  faces shine.

She was cheerful and bright, like the majestic sunlight,

Her grace once restored a blind man's sight.

Alas, jealousy is evil, kids,  for a few women harbored envy of her.

They sneaked  in her house one night and set loose on her , a violent cur.

The poor girl cried, struggled, tried to fight, but the mongrel scarred her beyond recognition,

Making her to be known as the ugliest girl in the nation.

So every night, under the placid moon light,  the once beautiful maiden weeps to the gods,

warning everyone she could find about the jealousy in their hearts. "

That  night, i could not sleep-  my curiosity wouldn't  let me rest;

So  I peeked out of my window ;

Witnessed my old Nana looking up at the skies,

with silent tears escaping her eyes,

helping a little bird get back in its nest.


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