Mystery Place.

The shivering cold lasts all through the night,
the fog shifts,
not a soul in sight,
silver tears falls on her skin,
the morning is growing near,
her pale complextion,
and her untidy black hair,
shines in the moon's comforting stare,
now the time is right,
the bushes rustle and the trees bend and sway,
but the girl sit there peacefully daring to stay,
the fog drifts apart leaving a river in its place,
the willow tree's branches crawling to touch the rivers face,
was all this real or was she dreaming of such a place,
but in the end imagination was assumed guilty in this case.