Few tears were shed when news arrived
that Lord Trevelyan had died.
One solitary wreath was laid
as shallow, feigned respects were paid.
Remote and sullen, he'd disdained
each hand of friendship, and remained
throughout his life a bitter soul
with whom no person could condole.
His lavish mansion towered still
above the village, on the hill
where shadows stalked, in pale moonlight,
all signs of life within their sight.
And curious to see inside
the house whose doors had been denied,
the villagers set forth with haste
unconscious of the doom they faced.
As ghostly clouds went scudding by
a vixen screamed its eldritch cry.
Then one by one they reached the hall:
The door slammed fast once and for all.
They stood transfixed as terror reigned
And piercing cries rang unrestrained.
No soul would dare set foot again
on Lord Trevelyan's domain.
23/01/19
'One Night In A Haunted Manor Poetry Contest'
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Categories:
trevelyan, dark, fate, fear,
Form: Rhyme