The wind was a whisper of darkness,
and all the world lay still,
hearing the charges on the maiden, 
and of the night behind the mill.

She knew it was wrong,
she knew it would mean death,
but that had all fled her mind,
with each gasping breath.

His hands were so soft,
his kisses so sweet,
and she wondered if it was fate,
that had caused them to meet.

She would have given him her heart, 
but alas she was wed!
And so in her longing,
she shared his soft bed.

It would have been perfect,
for it felt oh so right.
If she hadn't have been caught,
with the Miller that night.

Her husband in his fury,
had her sent to the gaol,
and all the town could her his sobs,
that heart rendering wail.

He knew in his heart,
that he loved her yet.
But adultery was a crime,
he couldn't easily forget.

On the morrow they would take her,
to be hung in town square,
But it would truly be he,
who would decide what would happen there.

Would they tie the knot tight?
or would they let her go free?
the fate of her life,
all depended upon he.

In the mourn they brought her,
dragged by her own ash blond hair.
A blind fold over the eyes,
of this creature so fair.

Her lover watched in agony,
as they drew the rope 'round,
yet from her soft lips,
there escaped not a sound.

She had gasped her last gasp,
she had breathed her last breath.
She had sang her last song,
and she sang it of death.

The crowd came to a hush,
her breathing was shallow,
as her husband came forward,
and lowered his cowl.

He parted his lips,
and gave his reply,
the order which would state,
whether she'd live or she'd die.

The tale became a mystery,
a legend over time.
For what does prevail, the love of a husband?
Or the hatred of the crime?

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© 1997 blackwing@sk.sympatico.ca