The Graveyard Dance

The woman, in a red dress, walks thru the night
by tombs of all she danced within her chateau.
The moon fills the graveyard with eerie light
as ghostly shadows emerge within the glow.

First one grave, then another opens wide
as her victims step forth in one long stride,
in haste for the chance to dance with her again
Each shuffling over to whirl around so gay -
becomes a challenge to beard the lion in her den;
only for some, their cerements get in the way.

This dance of death, so playful and curious,
each sigh of pleasure becomes deathly serious.

The woman's red dress flows like a gentle breeze,
she's death in her movements, a beautiful tease.

Who can change in a wink into a stormy sight -
or transform into a vampire with a deadly bite.

Death can be hidden in a Shakespeare scene or act,
but can also be a mystic beauty with no lines or cues.
Death comes sneaking in without a pact or contract,
With flaming colors, she'll glide in with vibrant hues.

She's a beauty, all women's nightmare, every man's dream,
they do not see what she intends under the starry sky,
become mesmerized like a cat that's found the cream,
but sober up when Gabriel's horn is heard on high.

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