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The Balking Mire of Fanghandrath
The Balking Mire of Fanghandrath
‘Twas late when the misted veils
Suck and drew
‘pon the reeking fetters of claxon screams
Wailing echoed dismal to
Too late for lantern to pick a path
In the trickster passages
Of the boggish marsh
The Balking Mires of Fanghandrath
Where ‘oer the shake-ed sheaves domain
The Shadow Hunter was know to claim
The souls of less fortune given men
Or the eyes of the innocent
Aye ! They told the story well
Should the hunter of shadows
‘pon your path befall
would devour all in The Balking Mires of Fanghandrath
But needs must some they need
To prove their bravery
Of foolish men never seen again
Returning from the trickster paths of Fanghandrath
Of one such a man who’s courage by beer
Was made stalwart young and without fear
Through the haunted waste he dared to travel
When the misted veils suck and drew
Not yet half way there before the chill ate his bones
And from the rear the rushing fear
Did The Shadow Hunter draw ‘pon his heart
In noisome fog the Rake appeared
Too far to hear the sounds of screams
Too lost in the mazes of dead beaten reeds
To mouth-less to utter a prayer
And beseech the fate of balking mires
No wind it was the laugh, the laugh of Fanghandrath
The hunger of its desolate seed
To feed ‘pon the soul
Of innocent and less fortune given men
‘Twas not till dawn when he reached the rim
Ashen grey his youth had gone
And no shadow did he cast in morning sun
No shadows fall on The Balking Mires of Fanghandrath
Copyright ©
Colin Mitchell Williams
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