Its ghostly, desolate shell reposes atop a craggy tor,
Overlooking the restless sea on England's venerable shore!
Though its walls have withstood the ravages of countless ages,
Its name and former majesty are lost in history's pages.
What gay times must've abounded within its sturdy walls!
Sumptuous repasts with joints of meat and elegant balls!
The chase for stag and fox with the running of the hounds!
Celebrating with games and picnics on its compelling grounds!
Now, according to local lore, eerie things are seen and heard.
Scenes portrayed by phantoms of events that once occurred.
On moonlit nights a spectral guard is seen to pace its towers,
Clad in mail, armed with lance, he's heard to herald the hours!
On stormy nights as thunder crashes and the savage gale shrieks,
Lightning illumes a princess wraith, tears coursing down her cheeks.
She waves to her prince sitting astride his steed of white,
Who goes forth into battle, this, her handsome, valiant knight!
Did in this once magnificent mansion reside a royal line?
We are forever left to wonder about its calamitous decline.
If these, cold, gray, massive walls could only speak
To reveal its secrets! But, alas, they now stand mute and bleak!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in Black Eyed Susan's "If These Walls Could Talk" Contest - Sep 2012