Flicking through the pages of a glossy magazine
The photograph was of a familiar scene
I remembered the house, grey stone and cold
To us young girls it was ancient and old
The garden full of trees, dark and drear
While the cold river flowed on by to the weir
We would play in the woods on the other side
Close our eyes and wait while one would hide
It was while playing this game we became aware
Someone sang beautifully from over there
Then every time we went into the wood
We would hide and listen whenever we could
Then one day in summer, to our surprise
We saw her singing in the garden before our eyes
She was so young and pretty in a long white gown
Roses pinned in black hair, all flowing down
Singing a song of lost love and aching despair
She looked so sad as she walked over there
An elderly lady who lived down the road
Knew everyone for miles and the stories she told!
We were curious to know, on our return
Was she a film star, we were hoping to learn
I asked her, “Who was our beautiful nightingale?”
Then she told we four girls this fabulous tale
There were two sisters who lived in Trune House
One was flamboyant, the other a little dormouse
Abigail was lovely and could sing like a lark
Prudence was plain and seldom left the park
But both young girls had a secret desire
A handsome young man they both did admire
The young man proposed marriage to Abigail
Learning of this Prudence went suddenly pale
She burst into tears and to the garden she ran
Quickly followed by Abigail and her young man
In her haste and distress Prudence slipped and fell
She went into the river, in its high winter swell
Not stopping to think, the young man took a dive
That was the last time either were seen alive
Then poor Abigail never left the park again
But lived out her sad life in solitude and pain
Two hundred years later you may still hear her sing
To warn you of the heartache that love can bring
It was so long ago since I last went there
Or thought of the two who went over the weir
Now on reading the article in this magazine
I am now trying to picture the newer scene
A large shopping mall where the house used to be
With a sweetly singing ghost who some swear they see
Author notes
Photograph is my own of Craig y Nos in Wales. A small castle and used now as a hotel but the surrounding park lands are open to the public.
Cathy, do you need a British cousin?
A contest entry
- In Honor Of My 50th Gold Trophy On AP by BluesMan.
3000 points, ended February 27, 40 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - {contest #229} (AP) Family is everything by daviscth.
1750 points, ended June 11, 24 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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This is exactly the type of poem I love!! There is no better stories than ones like you have told. I LOVE the picture too. It would be so awesome to see places like this. Thank you for sharing it with me.
You are such a sweet person and have amazing talent. I'd love to add you as a cousin.
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Thouroghly enjoyed this, (I can't spell through, either)
Ahem. Spell check line 1...
I was into my second stanza before I realized you were rhyming. That is as it should be... The exact opposite of 'forced' rhyme. I love the sepia wash of the picture. I studied photography long enough to understand the profundity of my ignorance. All the interlocking wheels of focal length, aperture size, sensitivities, shutter speeds, whew. Then the tricks like colorizing and filters... Wow. I didn't even see the house at first. Is it a castle, or a manor home? and does it survive, or is it a mall now? I have something I wrote that this reminds me of. Would you like me to fetch it? -
Tis poem tells a great story. It kept me captivated from start to finish. The rhyme was well done and it flowed well With the exception of this Cliche' " One was out-going and one as quiet as a mouse" I love this entry. Thank you for entering my contest
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This is a poem to be proud of Good luck with it and I enjoyed the read
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What a wonderfully spooky little tale...
Enthralled throughout with a compelling narrative and fun rhyme scheme...
Felt it, lived it, loved it...
Well done!!!
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Fritz and Hilly
Thank you both for your kind comments on this poem. As I was wandering around the grounds of that place, thinking of when it was a family home and all the grounds were part of their garden, it wasn't difficult to think that many a story could belong there. Working on the photos when I got home I thought of trying that particular picture in sepia and that set the thoughts in motion.
Sheila
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Good luck with this intriguing write-Spooky to the end and great storyline-
Hilly
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