The Hoary Spectre

This night the hoary spectre clings beneath its wings the twisting gales.
Where ride the winds in voice she sings of gothic lore and fiendish tales.

And all will hear her when she wails.

She fleets across crass brimstone skies, black doleful eyes in hellish quest,
Til there amidst the shadows of your darkened room she comes to rest.

Your fright and fear; her treasure chest.

This night the hoary spectre will, the winter chill, in deed possess
and hence the creaking boards she doth manipulate with her caress
which lives and breaths her ghostliness.