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Remember the house on Grayson Place

Not quite sure just where it’s gone

It appears, now, to be an empty space

Perhaps it was never there, all along

A pile of grassy dirt lays claim

To the lot, where it once stood

The neighborhood’s never been the same

Not quite sure it really should

Remind us, of the woman, who

We could hear, from dawn til dusk

Her howling shrill, would pierce right though

Ever long, and rather brusque

We knew better than to get too near

Strange things happened much too fast

How she filled us with this dreadful fear

A woman, who was marked, an outcast


Part One can be found here

©2018 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
Photo via Pixabay CC0