Fearful Things

I walked on by a graveyard, very late, alone one night. No ghosts sprung from their moldy graves: no evil ghoulish sights. It seemed no vampires lurked about, to sip my blood like wine. And any hulking werewolves must have previously dined. I watched in vain for zombies, with their gruesome, bloody stares. But they seemed to be as plentiful, as wayward teddy bears. Yet, I would duck behind a tree, on guard quite through and through, At every car that passed me by . . transporting who knows who? While I recalled what mother said, no doubt with some misgiving: It’s not the dead you have to fear . . but watch out for the living! © 2015 Diane Lefebvre