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Sodden
The moon casts its shadows so long and so grey
In a monochrome world that awaits a new day
They lock all the gates every night when it’s dark
So nobody sees what goes on in the park
The quacks and the croaks in an instant abate
The scurryings cease dead on ten-fifty-eight
The eleventh hour shall hear no owl cry
And just before midnight the last bat shall fly
No breeze moves the leaves as the park-keeper grieves
Leant over his daughter who no longer breathes
He was the last and she one before
At midnight watched over by so many more
With nary a ripple nor watery sound
They rise from the pond and they gather around
Yet each sodden shadow does not wet the ground
As they revisit victims… they’d left to be found
Each All Hallows’ Eve such revenge they would wreak
For punishments past of which no one would speak
The girl would have been the last local to die
If he hadn’t heard her last earthly cry
Decreed by the folk be they sullen or shocked
The park and its pond shall each night be locked
That olde village pond where rumours abound…
A Halloween hell where witches were drowned
Copyright ©
Terry Flood
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