Slipping through the gardens of stone,
Whistling, hoping Iím still alone,
Searching the sky for that lucky star
And praying I wonít need to search far;
Back in town the steeple bell
Sings out its lonely, midnight knell
Like prophecy too momentary
To ignore in places this solitary.
I know, in my heart, no evils reside
In this quiet acre of countryside
But my mind is shouting warnings dire
That this night evil things conspire;
If only I could still my thoughts
And hurry homeward as I ought . . .
But something makes me move with stealth
And mortal fear for my own health.
So, I step through leaf-strewn grass,
Each step as loud as breaking glass,
Marking my passage for what might follow
My travels through this haunted hollow;
Such nights, such places make me cower-
Dark with secrets, rife with power
To make me chilled within my skin
And regret my catalog of sins!
Suddenly sure that something marks me-
Me, alone here (moon-lit starkly),
What foul demonís slitherings chase me
As its baleful vision embrace me;
Who will find me torn asunder
And, trying to ponder, be left to wonder . . .
What transpired and, guess as they might,
What caught up with me tonight?
(c) 1999 J.L.Becker. All rights reserved.
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