The Dead Marshes
A mist rises from the dark marsh.
A cold wind blows, it feels harsh.
The frogs singing the same as before.
the nightingales tune a familiar score.
So why does this marsh, scare me so?
Is it the wind? or moons soft glow?
It's the same as the marshes at home.
Of which I had no fear to roam.
The reeds are moving, I stop and stare
A face I see in the shadows there.
What terror is this, I fear to tread
Awake, asleep, alive or dead?
The others left me alone with my fear
I shed another forgotten tear.
The fires are lit in its very eyes
one step more to where it lies.
A splash is heard whence comes the sound
my friends they gather all around
are they my friends they weren't before
when did I stumble and shut this door.
Suddenly a voice calls from the past
I am awaken from the moment at last
the fear is gone, the dread subsides
for beside me now a friend strides.