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A misty, moonlit
night,
In the kingdom not a sound.
On a platform, in the cold,
Four watchmen gather 'round.
They tell a tale of
mystery
That stills the heart with fright,
'Tis destiny that brings them here
To share this wonderous plight.
Twice they have seen
the dreaded sight,
Which causes blood to chill,
A ghostly form, that of the king,
Who walks not of its will.
'Tis prisoner to
walk the night,
Lo day face terrors so great.
Now wanders here in tell-a-tale,
That of his ghastly fate.
Anticipation sets on
the men;
Desire to hear it speak.
Says not a word, yet lingers for
The man it came to seek.
Suddenly it stumbles
back,
Fear set in its eyes,
Morning break will force it
To continue its demise.
The spirit moves
away,
The watchmen shudder at the sight.
Nothing left but silence;
'Tis the sound of the watchmen's fright.
by
Tanna Lynn Pekrul - 1995
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