Upon a stone one night she sat, a lovely corpse in midnight black.
And on that stone was etched “Denise”, and for seven years she’d been deceased.
The dress she wore was torn and frayed, her face was pale and part decayed.
Heavy on her heart did weigh, a chain that kept her there to stay.
It was her lover’s face she longed to see, to feel his kiss, to set her free.
But all she did was sit and cry, you see, she did not have her eyes.
Now not too far away from her, each night another corpse would stir.
He stared at her with silent breath, he’d loved her long before his death.
He’d try to reach her from his grave, but his own chains they never gave.
Each night he cried and called her name, each night the end result the same.
Never would he feel rejoice, you see, he had no throat or voice.
So forever they were cursed apart, forever never joining hearts.
A loathsome end to this saddened tale, of star crossed lovers whose love had failed
But for those who live and love they yearn, remember here a lesson learned.
And the moral of this tale I say, romance is never far away.
For those with eyes they need but seek, and those with voices need but speak.