Mrs. Buxton's Tale

Mrs. Buxton, smiled on, she
As, her next victim to be
Entered the hallowed halls of what was
Her bungalow grand, with a rich past

After the war, demolish, they did
Her home, abode & got rid
Of the squatters who for years past
Had made this bungalow, their home, cost naught…

Plead, beg, and warn did they
Touch it not for you will have to pay…
Branded as crazy, paraded were they,
As the Bungalow, did make way…

For the Hotel Ville was an epitome of class
Visitors, tourists thronged it en masse
And Mrs. Buxton found her silent abode
Raided by all these foreign folks

But, the hotel hid a secret in its bosom
A past dirty, a secret colossal
The foundation lay on what was
The grave of a woman, murdered in the past

1832, September 13th it was
A pretty damsel was talking her walk
When behind the tree, hear did she
Her husband, muttering ‘sweet nothings’ to Emily…

Aghast, Broken, Yet dared she
Confronted them & clearly
Told them they would have to pay
Sinners, in hell, their bodies would lay…

2 shots to her chest silenced her
Mr. Buxton’s revolver triumphed over her purr
Dragged her body to the house
Liz Buxton was buried, draped in a shroud…

That very night, as the clock struck three
Mrs. Buxton walked again, free…
Furious, Angry, mad was she…
Revenge!...Revenge!!... For revenge longed Lizzy…

Emily died a peaceful death
One apparition & she froze to her bed
As Lizzy took the kitchen knife
Thrust it into her breast & sucked out dear life…

Thomas Buxton had already fled
To his death, he was led…
Liz followed him incessantly
Pushed him into the river, drown did he…

Since, the day, they all say
Walks she here, night & day…
Ad when she devours her victim here
Her joyous screams can be heard everywhere…