Lament of Senor Don Gato

https://youtube.com/shorts/wHSIeO5ThEU

Beneath a moon of bloodless hue, Don Gato perched, a shadowed form,

On a roof where ravens whispered doom, their cries a harbinger of storm.

A letter, sealed with spectral wax, bore words of love from a ghostly dame,

Her fur as pale as death’s embrace, her eyes aglow with a funeral flame.

He leaped, a fool for love’s cruel jest, and plunged into the abyss below,

His bones did crack, his whiskers bled, a scream to pierce the midnight’s glow.

The village wept in hollow tones, their dirge a wail through fog so thick,

They bore his corpse past market graves, where fish did rot with a stench so sick.

Yet from the decay, a ghastly breath—a scent to wake the damned from sleep,

Don Gato rose, his eyes now voids, a cursed soul in the darkness deep.

No joyous union would he claim, for love had turned to a spectral chain,

Bound to haunt the streets of dust, a gothic shade in eternal pain.

By: Your Ghostly Guide, The Keeper of Gothic Dust Diaries with whispers from Grok, xAI