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Sunday, October 23, 2011

A Peck of Fear

The sun sets in the golden sky,
The silver moon rises above the rye,
The wind takes a deep breath,
And slides towards the valley's breadth...

The orange fire crackles the wood,
Tiny red sparks dance in the smoot,
The village begins to slumber,
Just then they hear a rumbling thunder...

Nor the dogs do bark... neither
The wolves do you hear,
Fear, not what you would expect,
Broken is blood bound pact...

From the darkest pits in wonderland,
From afar and near yonder land,
Fear, not what you would expect,
Again, you stand not correct...


Those who lay in wait... sleeping,
Those who awoke from a slumber...
Fear, not what you would expect,
Your courage, it must remain checked...


An army of ghosts and ghouls,
You'd think would be about...
Fear, not what you would expect,
Respect, for it may be just neglect...

The mist doth gathered its rank,
On the far side of the bank,
It dare not wander over the rye,
For fear the land may be too dry...

No crack dare howls,
No plank dare creak ,
The prospects of future just look bleak,
Come now, just dare to take a peak...

Another day dawns, the sun comes bright,
The mist, with its ranks goes back,
Into the dank, the moon too has gone,
The wind now a breeze, flows with just as ease,

The village in the valley, beside,
The white breech tree, does not,
Fear the rumbling thunder, underneath,
The bright shinning sun, until


The sun sets in the golden sky,
The silver moon rises above the rye,
The wind takes a deep breath,
And slides towards the valley's breadth...

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