A bone, not human, lies as evidence of the deed...

A bone, bare and white

Lies pure and bright

Evidence in the night

Of deeds full of fright.

 

Is it a man's? No.

Is it a woman's? No.

Is it what's left? Yes.

Is it the killer? Perhaps.

 

What can it be then?

Whose pale forgotten bone?

Why so dry and thin?

Why that solitary groan?

 

A well loved lover

Killed under the cover,

Her spirit does hover

So is the life of a true lover.