‘Neath twilight’s dim and deathly veil,
A skeleton sang soft and sweet—
His ribs were harps the night winds wail,
That played for hearts that ceased to beat.

He sang not for the dawn or day,
But for his bride with vacant eyes,
Who drifted near in ashen gray,
Her breath like whispered lullabies.

“Come dance,” he whispered, arms outstretched wide,
Our waltz shall stir the dead from ancient tombs.
She floated near, his phantom, spectral bride,
Their steps like sighs that haunt abandoned rooms.

Around them stirred the sleeping dead,
The roses blackened, roots decayed,
Yet love, though lost, still softly bled,
A fever fierce through night’s parade.

The ghoul and ghost, the fiend and friend,
Paused, trembling in their pale delight,
To see such hearts refuse their end,
And kindle warmth in endless night.

Her breath, a veil of evening frost,
His heart, a chamber locked and cold;
Their touch, a spark where hope was lost,
As time’s dark tide began to fold.

He swore by stars that do not shine,
Their union none could now undo;
Her echo chilled his trembling spine,
As death reclaimed what life once knew.

The worms withdrew; the nightbird’s cry
Gave voice to graves and whispered lore;
For love, though silent, will not die—
It haunts beyond Death’s shadowed door.

So if you stray where spirits croon,
And moonlight cloaks the earth to rest,
You’ll glimpse two shades beneath the moon—
In death embraced, forever blessed.

And pity not their tender plight,
For hearts like theirs no tomb can keep;
They dance through every haunted night,
And kiss where souls and shadows sleep.