The date

Kicking leaves across a winter street
Scarf wrapped tightly round
Trees reach high toward the sky
Like a dead hand from the ground

Fog rolls in on mystic wind
That briskly burns my face
The clock strikes high my time is nigh
So I quickly quicken pace

I trod alone on cobbled stones
With gaslight dappled views
My time is growing short
To follow my newest clue

I reached my destination
And to my dismay was late
All the expectation dissipated
When I couldn't meet my date

The next day was frantic
It was spread all across the front page
Jack the ripper strikes again
And viciously spreads his rage