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Grey White Woman

a tear of joy,

By Moharif YuliantoPublished about a month ago 2 min read
Grey White Woman
Photo by Amir Esrafili on Unsplash

The fog rolls in, a shroud of white,

Across the moors, where shadows fight.

A chill descends, a mournful sigh,

As whispers dance on the wind's soft cry.

There, in the mist, a figure stands,

A woman draped in spectral bands.

Her dress, a grey that seems to fade,

Her face obscured, a lonely shade.

The villagers call her "Grey White Woman,"

A haunting spirit, whispered rumor.

They say she walks where sorrows lie,

A silent witness to a mournful cry.

Some say she's lost, a love betrayed,

Forever searching, unafraid.

Others say vengeance fuels her plight,

A wronged soul yearning for the light.

Young Thomas, brave yet filled with fear,

One moonlit night, her spirit near.

He saw her form, a wisp of grey,

Her eyes like embers, lost in dismay.

Drawn by a force he couldn't name,

He spoke to her, whispered her name.

A startled gasp, a mournful sound,

A voice that echoed all around.

"Lost," she sighed, "in this endless tide,

Searching for peace, nowhere to hide."

Thomas, emboldened, asked her plight,

And listened through the silent night.

She spoke of love, a broken vow,

A heart betrayed, a life somehow

Lost in despair, a cruel decree,

Now bound to wander eternally.

A single tear, a shimmering light,

Fell from her face, a sorrowful sight.

"Only true love," her voice so faint,

"Can break this curse, and end this plaint."

Thomas, touched by her mournful plea,

Vowed to help set her spirit free.

He'd search for answers, a hidden clue,

To break the spell that held her true.

He delved in lore, in ancient rhyme,

Seeking a way to conquer time.

He learned of a forgotten rite,

Under the moon's ethereal light.

On the anniversary of her plight,

When darkness claimed the fading light,

He stood on the moors, where shadows play,

With a single rose, he paved the way.

He spoke her name, with heart sincere,

Banishing doubt, casting out fear.

"Find peace," he cried, "let anger fade,

May love remain, the promise made."

A gentle breeze, a whispered sigh,

The rose glowed white, beneath the sky.

The Grey White Woman, bathed in light,

Transformed, a radiance pure and bright.

A grateful smile, a tear of joy,

A whispered thank you, for a brave boy.

She faded then, a gentle peace,

Leaving behind a heart's release.

The fog receded, the moon shone bright,

The moors grew silent, bathed in light.

Thomas stood there, with heart at ease,

Knowing her spirit finally found release.

From that day on, no Grey White Woman,

Haunting the moors, a sorrowful omen.

Only a legend, whispered low,

Of a love that conquered, long ago.

And when the moon hangs full and bright,

A single rose, a gentle light,

Reminds the world, of love's embrace,

That even darkness has a resting place.


About the Creator

Moharif Yulianto

a freelance writer and thesis preparation in his country, youtube content creator, facebook

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Comments (1)

  • Emil indwabout a month ago

    Thomas is a form of kindness.

Moharif YuliantoWritten by Moharif Yulianto

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