Speaking to me in velvet tongue,
A ghostly maid you are,
Never to touch, only to speak,
Always near yet always far.
You never listen, never hear
My greatest hopes and darkest fears,
But through your lips the dead men speak
Of pain and trial through the years.
So many men have you seduced
With visions grand and small.
Your wisdom knows no boundaries,
Your voice beloved of all.
You beckon with your changeling call,
A whisper, now a cry,
A shout of rage, a laugh, a scream,
A sob, a mournful sigh.
You teach me much, oh wondrous wench,
Of beauty and of life,
But sad it is the wretched man
Who takes you for his wife.
You move my spirit, rend my heart
With beauty and with passion,
But with the dying of your spell,
My spirit is but ashen.
If only you could take my hand,
And grant me earthly pleasure,
I'd end my lonely suffering
And make this life my treasure.
But naught but voice do you possess.
A ghostly maid you are,
Never to touch, only to speak,
Always near yet always far.
George Chadderdon © 1993