Like ghost she glides and gleams as marshy mist
Unknown, unheard, uncared for and unkissed
Sad, sorry sight, if truth it should be told
Since she was once a poet, proud and bold
But nowadays she sneaks through door and wall
Soliloquising shadow in a shawl
Till dawn does break and spectre has outstayed
Her welcome, then her form and features fade
This ghost, that locals call the Lady Grey
Holds in her hand a prayer book – so they say
But others of a literary bent
Know Lady bears a poet book she’s lent
And others who\'ve observed her for a while
Have even said they’ve sometimes seen her smile!