Aggie, Aggie, Aggie,
I mentioned her name thrice,
Then chilly cold did grip my soul,
With fingers, cold as ice,
I turned to see her eyes on me,
Menacing my mind,
Blood shot red.
I smelled her death,
Creep up from behind!
I tried to flee, but got no speed,
From my leaden limbs,
Black Aggie moaned, her gravestone groaned,
As Death called out my name.
Her marble fists, with iron grip,
Held me in her stead,
An eerie place, the stone cold grave,
She wished to make my bed!
I wailed my fear and shed the tears,
A man should never shed,
But terrified that I should die,
I cared not that I wept.
Desperate times cause desperate crimes,
When gentlemen do fall,
And instinct knows a fear that grows,
To cause a man to kill!
I drew my blade, intent to save
My soul from Evil's call,
I thrust the steel, perchance to deal
Black Aggie back to Hell,
Alas the blade, no indent made,
Upon the marbled stone,
Instead it snapped as Aggie laughed,
Her cackle 'neath the moon!
Her wings engulfed my very soul,
To steal away my breath,
The force she dealt, the pain I felt,
Caused me to welcome Death.
Beneath her crush my heart did burst,
As my life spilled away!
Now my spirit wails, to tell my tale,
From beyond my own grave!
Black AggieA poem based on an urban legend.
By Harry Boslem