Every summer night, she sang
the same sweet melody.
He’d stand upon his sand-swept deck
and smile toward the sea.

Every note she sang, it seemed
was meant only for him.
Never when he wasn’t there;
and never on a whim.

He wished to look upon her face,
to see the angel true.
He knew that she was calling him;
he knew it through and through.

One late night near summer’s end,
she slipped into his home.
He woke up, not the least surprised,
to see her there, alone.

She was standing in the dark,
a smile upon her face.
One long finger, white as bone,
lured him from that place.

In the night, he followed her
straight to the water’s edge.
Then she gripped, with hands like ice,
and dragged him o’er the ledge.