She, who others call unlucky,
Walked into the fortune teller
To see if their accusations were true
The gypsy’s hair, black as midnight
Whipped across her forehead
As the wicked wind blew through
Her sparkling fingers
Traced her crystal ball
As she began her forbidding lines
“At the start of the new moon,
All will seem well, my dear
But, the world is full of crime
At the stroke of midnight
All will turn against you
Your life becomes despair
Your existence is held in one’s hands
He determines your end
And where you will go from there”
She shudders at the sound of her words
She wishes to hear no more
But before she goes, she looks outside
To see the silhouette of a group of birds
She pushes back her chair
Drops three coins in front of the gypsy
Who flashes a smile of satisfaction
Then she quickly leaves the gypsy’s lair
After she’s gone away
The gypsy unleashes a chuckle
The youngsters believe anything
And then no longer wish to stay
She snatches up her velvet cloak
And slips into the rain
Her bare feet pound the pavement
And she is startled by a poke
A shadow lurks below the new moon
She hears the clock tower chime twelve
It holds up a silver dagger
And she knows her life is ending soon
She, however, doesn’t understand
How her fortune was turned against her
What was meant for the girl, was given to her
By the mercy of the silver dagger, stiff in his hand
As one last prayer escaped her lips
She drifted into death
The shadow turned and left her there
In the rainy night, cold and crisp