Julia sleeps within her crypt, and I
am there, prepared to do the thing I must.
Her beauty's flawless, months since she did die;
returned to us with horrid, ugly lust:
for after dusk, she creeps without her tomb.
Our Julia has refused to go to dust.
So now I must return her to Death's womb.
The time has come; the tools are all in place.
I must act now while daylight fills the room:
My sharpened weapon tears through all the lace.
It plunges through her heart; her slumber breaks
at once, and blood explodes upon my face.
She shrieks a curse; again I strike the stake.
Julia sleeps once more, not again to wake.
-- © 1999, W.A. Seaver.