It was a dark and stormy night -or so the heralds say-
And lightning striking constantly transformed the night to day
The thunder roared the castle round -or thusly runs the tale-
And ringing from the NorthEast Tower there came a dreadful wail.

It was no beast or banshee that, the castle folk knew well,
Nor prisoner in agony, nor demon trapped by spell
No ghost that moaned in penance, nor a soul in mortal fright-
Twas just the Countess "Singing" - for she practiced every night.

The Countess was convinced that she should have been born a Bard
And thus she made the lives of those within her power hard.
For they must listen to her "Sing", and smile at what they heard
And swear she had a golden voice that rivaled any bird.

The Countess was convinced that she had wedded 'neath her state
And so the worst lot fell upon her meak and mild mate
Not only must the Count each night endure her every song
But suffer silent her abuse, be blamed for every wrong.

It was a dark and stormy night - or so the Dards aver -
And so perhaps that was the reason why there was no stir
When suddenly the "Music" ceased; so when dawn raised his head
Withen the Tower servants found the Countess stiff and dead

The Heralds came at once to judge if there had been foul play
They questioned all most carefully to hear what they would say
And one fact most astounding to them quikly came to light-
That EVERY moment of the Count was vouched for on that night.

The castle folk by ones and twos came formawrd on their own
To swear the Count had never once that night been all alone
So though the Tower had been locked tight, with two keys to the door
One his, one hers; the Count of guilt was plain absolved for sure.

At length the Heralds then pronounced her death as "Suicide"
And all withen the district voiced themselfs quite satisfied
It was a verditct, after al, that none wished to refute -
Though no one could imagine WHY she'd try to eat her lute....