Lady Christmas on the Moor
You have heard of Father Christmas, even Mrs Christmas his alleged wife… but you will not have heard of Lady Christmas… for she his but a ghost as this seasonal gothic poem tells…
They call her Lady Christmas, at Christmas she does appear
For it is said its at this time she did disappear
In former times, few people looked, just shrugged their shoulders and moved one
It comes to all in time in life, in time we all are gone.
Some said that she was murdered, in the white swirling fog
MOre that she just got lost, drowned somewhere in the bog
All had a story but none knew well, but there was the superstition
That in December, when the fog fell, there was her apparition.
Its said she swore that no more like her would like here perish there
Alone where all ground looked the same from whom no one did care
So she would stand their sentiel to warn them away
That is one story told by some locals to this day.
But, no alas, the kindest hearts, meet a fate so cruel!
Unlike the cruel heartless hearts who at her time did rule
A horseman once while heading home took the bog at the shortest route
He was am amn who knew the road well, was kind and spoke but truth.
She manifested in the mist where she once upon did die
To scare him away she let out the most pitiful horrific cry
But he – of the noble heart! – though her a cry of help instead
Went to aid the damsel in distress… now he too was dead.
He was found on the moor in time, a prophecy came through
He had been to a fortune teller, all said her words were true
She said he’d meet his death by water, her foretellings never fail
He had laughed in good faith and mirth, promised he would never set sail!
But there he lay prone in the moors flood, all round him like the sea
As in in the middle of the ocean wide he might as well be
He fell from his horse that lost his footing, banged his head and drowned
She did not understand why he did not flee, being then on safer ground.
Whatever happens in the spirit world between there and here
Its seems they do not learn from the consequences of when they appear
For she appeared more, as if to punish the kind for kindnmess folly
More coffins were closed and tears were shed underneath decorations of Christmas holly.
But those who were cruel told of a voice, of someone trapped in the mist
Sometimes a search party would go out if the clergy did insist
But no one was ever found there, that any party could ever boast…
For she was not searched for when it mattered… and now was but a ghost.
So as you head home for Christmas, if crossing the bog take care
Ignore the spirit, she means you no harm, for her soul say a prayer
May no more perish trying to save her as if paying for the cruelty of those of her time
May we all know life and laughter, and no death at Christmastime!