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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required 'Round about eight o'clock each evening the massive iron gates are closed. The moon's mellow glow shines upon spectral scenes that are now exposed! Phantoms that by day lie peacefully in their graves now freely roam, Reliving mortal dramas when the earthly stage was their home! I've never witnessed such things but I've heard from reliable sources, That nigh midnight a spectral hearse travels about drawn by ebon horses! Six ghostly pallbearers march behind the hearse chanting a mournful dirge, As they escort the macabre procession and at a gloomy crpyt converge! A specter desperado is seen dodging 'mongst the moss-covered stones, Chased by a sheriff, his moldy funereal shroud flapping about his bones! "Crazy Bob" Womack who discovered gold up around Cripple Creek, Sits on his stone guzzling booze and gazing wistfully t'ward Pikes Peak! Pat Brady, Roy Rogers' old sidekick, races about in his jeep, "Nellybelle!" Rebel soldiers scramble from their graves and loose a fearsome Rebel Yell! A gorgeous young wraith clad in white wafts to and fro seeking her lover, Adding to this eerie scene, perched in ancient oaks, owls hoot and hover! Ghostly apparitions peer from windows of the haunted chapel on the grounds. Grinning skeletons rise from musty tombs rattling about making their rounds! Helen Hunt Jackson, author of "Romana" resides here in her special nook. She leans against her stone observing all, perhaps researching another book!
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