The Ghostly Bride at Newton Lake Uk

The Ghostly Bride at Newton Lake Uk

They said she walked the water line

when fog had bruised the edge of time

a dress too white for sleep or soil

and eyes too wide for peace or toil

At Willow Park, the lake lies still

beneath the hush of Spindle Hill

no plaque, no stone, no mournful choir

just whispered breath and nettled briar

The story floats from mouth to ear

a bride who never left her year

some say she fell, some say he lied

some swear she walks where lilies died

Some saw her once, or so they claim

by light too thin to cast a name

she moved like thought, too swift to stare

then nothing held the heavy air

They speak of ropes or water’s grip

of vows that died on lover’s lips

but every version ends the same

a woman lost, a man unnamed

She does not moan, she does not cry

she waits where gulls refuse to fly

and if you pass near dusk or late

she might appear, or hesitate

No screams, no signs, no cries for grace

just stillness breathing in her place

and if she turns, don’t look too long

some things remember who’s done wrong