~ Poetry by me ~
The Old Gallows
Beams jut black against the dusk-sky,
Dead wood old and weather-worn;
Gone the noose, but after nightfall
Shadows dangle in the dark.
Fey is he who fares below it;
High above his hapless head
Ghostly echoes loom in hunger,
Lurkers waiting to be fed.
© 2005 Michaela
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