Gothic Annabelle Lee

Iron nail wound round my finger
Stepp'n hard to wake my feet
In a garden of marble I linger
Someone from long ago to meet

Forehead to forehead loving embrace
My fingers in hers and hers in mine
Lips pressed to her lovely child's face
Remember her taste like red strong wine

I touch her cheek and remember the tears
That I traced tasting their warmth and salt
Her stone not changed in a hundred years
There is not the gentle solace that I sought