A whoosh of chilling wind, or
was it the haunt of the evil doer;
with ne’er a thought she turned,
“Away with you!”, she spurned.

Naive no more, though desperate plea,
ever present the cold chill; she’d see
again, the pain, pounding deep,
she dare not slumber; dare not sleep.

Till happenstance, a calamitous blow
evicted, now his face does show;
impressed upon, she hides her shame;
the sick, the evil one to blame.

As she gazed upon the pane, instead,
no longer hiding her face, amid
brightly colored locks she smiled;
imagined pure, the innocent child.