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The House

Writer's picture: Theresa BaxterTheresa Baxter


The night falls quicker than before

As gnarled branches scratch the door

A chill on chill felt everywhere

Bemoans the wind, “I say, who’s there…?”

I cannot keep the torch alight

For mischief wants to play tonight

Phffft, it’s out! Before my eyes!

Yet no one’s here, to my surprise

A bedroom door slams shut down hall

Through cracks a light with ghostly pall

Does shine from room that is quite empty

It’s locked up tight, no key was left me

I know not what might here reside

I only know to run and hide

Should footsteps creak on floor above

Or on my back, feel gentle shove

Tis every year, come cold November

A presence wakes so ill of temper

It causes leaves to curl and die

Shoos birds from trees, away they fly

I fear one day, I’ll fall to harm

In house refusing to stay warm

Yet trapped I am, as winter beckons

My lot in life, to freeze, I reckon

Stay far away from house on hill

Though drawn you are, tis spirit’s will

Be warned beware be on your guard

Turn fast away for path be barred

Hear close your heart for caution’s thrum

For nothing good can this way come…

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