The wardrobe stood high above Bess; it was collecting dust over the years. Her narrow bed was sitting in the corner of her slate-grey room. When she looked out of her casement, the wind howled on the shutters and she saw the gusty trees waving madly. High in the sky, the moon was hanging like a ghostly galleon. Lighting up the whole heather moor, Bess could see the road her love would ride upon.
Bess’ jet-black hair fell down her chest like a cascading waterfall. Her bleached-white teeth sparkled like pearls amongst her rose-red lips. She was a caring, young girl; her eyes were gleaming in the moonlight.
As the Highwayman came riding down the meandering road, Bess saw his coat of claret velvet swaying in the wind.His brown breeches were tucked into his knee-high boots. He’d a handful of lace at his chin and a french-cocked hat settled on his forehead. Up he came to Bess’ casement.
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