He Woke

by Reinhard F. Hahn
based on the Low Saxon poem “He wak” by Klaus Groth (1819–1899)

he came to his bedside wearing her shroud and held in her hand a light.
She was even whiter than her shroud and the whitewashed wall, that white.

This is how she slowly crossed the floor and gently touched the curtain.
She shone the light in his face some more, bent down as if to be certain.

Yet her mouth was shut, shut too her eyes and motionless her breast.
She moved no lid, yet you’d surmise that speaking was her quest.

Down his spine and skin crept terror sheer and hard his heart did pound.
He meant to scream in mortal fear but could not make a sound.

He tried to move with all his might to ward off his demise,
But in his horror, dread and fright his limbs just would not rise.

But once he managed to prevail she had reached the door from his bed,
As white as chalk, wearing her veil, lighting the gloom ahead.