A Barrow Wight Poem


Among the night things, moving ‘round,
Screeching, scraping, or no sound,
They bite, they scavenge and they chew,
Through cloth and wood, bone and sinew.

In journeys long and paths so steep
To windings stretched and waters deep,
The end is near, if seeming far
You need just look upon a star.

Then you will see how low and small
You truly are in spite of all,
What can you do, or speak a sound
It all in time comes crashing down.

Darkness, endless, swallows all
To everyone, a curtain call.
No matter where, no matter when,
Greatest, least, you’ll find your end.

- pi