Emma --
Were you real -- or just a dream? I thought I saw you there on the edge of the pier that night -- wet hair plastered to your face, long tattered dress clinging about your ankles. You looked as if you were trying to tell me something, but when I drew near you seemed to vanish into the night's mist.
Folks said your name was "Emma" and you were known to wander those parts. The next day I found your gravestone in the desolate cemetery -- barely legible due to the effects of time:
Emma Davis
1880-1912
"The wind that gave me my first breath also received my last sigh"
My mind often drifts back to the pier and that brief encounter. Why is your soul not at rest? What were you searching for -- lost so many years ago?
Lizzy Smit
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