Lillian Grace Poem by Kevin Hulme

It was April I'm sure, Such a cruel windy night. How the trees did shake By the rain Blackened sky. For there overhead such a storm was announced, So I took shelter under roof of a Lychgate near by. And with a Howl and a Gust, the downpour was made, As the town did retire behind a curtain of mist, For awhile I must wait, By the Funeral gate, Until the Heavens had spoken, All anger desist. And as I looked all around, To the Graveyard near, Not a sight of a Soul could be seen in the gloom. Until my eye caught the form of a figure in White, Alone and forlorn, standing near a small Tomb. With up most concern, I approached the small girl , For female it was with her long Ringlets of hair. And barefoot she stood in a nightgown of silk, An image I formed to be of forsaken dispair. It took me as strange as I gazed at the girl, How her tresses were unmoved by the strengthening gale, And the dress of pure White, Was unnerving a sight, By its stillness no storm could assail. 'What need do you have here'? I asked of the child, ' This is no place to be wandering at night '. Her eyes had a look that were distant and dull, For no man ever witnessed a more disturbance of sight. ' I want to be home, To be with my Mother again', ' To read Rhyme and to be lulled on to sleep'. ' To see my dear Pa for they all miss me so, Now sitting by my bedside to weep'. I took the child's age as Six Summers long, I asked her ' Pray tell me your name'. ' I'm Lillian Grace, Oh Lillian Grace My home is down Old Priory Lane'. Her voice seemed to come from a distant place, Like a calling from another room. How the face pierced my Soul, By its Pure portrait of White, To give an unearthly shock, To this canvas of gloom. ' The wind has a frost you must be feeling this night', For I warrant it was numbing with cold. ' It will bother me not, I thank you kind sir, Since the Fever did start to take hold'. ' I just want to be Home with my Mother again and read Rhyme and to be lulled on to sleep, To see my dear Pa, for they all miss me so, Now sitting by my bedside to weep'. And with those last words she turned and so walked, To the Black shape of the Church sat behind. And so stately a walk was the flow of her tread, To give disquiet to the sanest of minds. The wet Blackened trees seemed to swallow her up, And no more did I see her wan face. So with the storm at its height, On this dismal of nights, I was just wanting to be gone from this place. Now so left alone I looked on towards, the Tomb that seemed to hold her in place, How my Blood ran on cold, By the words on the slab. For the name was of one Lillian Grace.