From deep within the misty heath they come,
To this ancestral home of twisted trees
And granite boulders, dripping verdant moss,
To cant and cackle 'neath a midnight moon.
This place transports into another world,
Unreal, imagined, fantasy,
In which grey mystic wraiths make play
And phosphorescent trails to each reveal
Their unmapped journeys from an unknown place.
Travellers make haste across this windswept moor,
Aware of perils once the sun goes down,
Dire whispered warnings fully understood -
Beware the mysterious Wistman's Wood.
Copyright © Peter Rees | Year Posted 2017