A lay may be a song, a melody, a simple narrative poem, or a ballad

haunt my days
he whispers
butter me up quite
she replies

the green groves
of her painting
sleeping
in his eyes
now
there is
no disguise

her speckled dust
in faded sunlight
in his too-familiar sight
her soul
declines to take flight

she’s a-tumbling
through the grasses
O! she’s a-dying
of the light
here tonight

out of sight
but never out of mind

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