Written by: jack horne

The shadows on the moonlit road
Belonged to ancient trees,
But then I saw a hulking form
That made my marrow freeze.

He stood well over six feet tall,
His face was long and lean,
‘Though dressed in velvet like a lord,
His voice was cold and mean.
He aimed his pistols at my breast,
With, ‘Stand and drop your knife.
Deliver all your goods, my friend,
Your money or your life.’

I knew I couldn’t hope to win,
And threw the man my purse;
But then he leapt upon his horse 
And rode off with a curse.

The sounds of riders galloped by,
But none were there, I swear;
I heard a single shot ring out,
Thus adding to my scare.

The highwayman would never rest;
But all was still again;
I prayed, and, chilled by thoughts of ghosts,
Continued down the lane.

 For Joyce's contest