The Sunday Whirl

My lover dead, I have no remorse, never mourn him, and he’s lying in a grave for ghostly apparitions up in the pines. His penance for the shadowy life he led is to be confined to the yard where only dastardly fragments of his miserable life can be remembered. Only on one night can the moon’s glimmer show over the graveyard, Halloween!

***

Wordle 781