The Grey Lady

Through the house
No longer there,
She walks.
At a distance,
Across the open grass.
Sitting on a bench
In the height of summer.
At dusk, she lingers
On the outskirts
Of the fair.
A thousand years
Away,
Alluded to
By lovers
On a r
Rainy day.
The real story
Never told.

The winter warning.