the tale of the Ghost of the Pickthorn Wood begins to circulate. Though unsubstantiated, common wisdom holds that the woman who became the ghost ventured into the forest one night in an attempt to follow her fiancee to a neighboring town, became lost, and met her end somewhere in its darkened depths.
For the sweetest young lass of the city
To have no beau was a pity.
Quiet and kind,
In fact she could be quite witty.
Then came the handsome young stranger.
A clear and present danger.
He strolled into town,
On his luck he was down,
And for her it was a life changer.
She asked him “Whatever’s the matter?”
Her heart on a silver platter.
“My love cares not for me,
Tragic, you agree?”
He looked as if he would shatter.
“Perhaps you might love me instead?”
Her cheeks turned a rosy red.
A smile lit his face,
His heart began to race,
“I believe I could!” He said.
“Will you wait for me to return?
Her affections I must spurn.”
She kissed him goodbye,
Felt as if she could fly,
And for him her heart did yearn.
Every week a new excuse
But her love did not reduce.
He’d say, “It was not the time!”
It should be a crime.
For her heart to be so abused.
Her smile she kept in place,
Felt it stretch across her face..
Her lover had lied,
She’d rather have died,
Than face this kind of disgrace.
This time he came in a rage.
It was clear a war he would wage.
“The fault is on you!
My heart she slew!”
Her guilt he tried to assuage.
“You knew that this was in store.
For you said she knew of us before.
Yet she stayed by your side,
Even while you lied,
And treated me as your whore.”
Yet still she knew her love had not died.
“She fell in love with another.” He cried.
She patted his head,
“Then take me instead.”
“I could never have you for a bride!”
Disbelief shown in her eyes.
Rejected after all her tries.
He fled into the wood,
Left her where she stood,
And did not heed her cries.
So after him she chased,
Though her hope was sadly misplaced.
He was nowhere in sight,
How terrible her plight,
For it was her death she faced.
In those woods her soul became hollow.
So if you hear her sobs, do not follow.
To the ground you’ll be flung,
Your neck will be wrung,
And your heart is what she will swallow.