mistressvamp

-- In Conversation with a Clown --

If it is a thrill you seek,
Then cross the moor and take a peek
At ruins old when I was young,
Of which such dire songs are sung.
Within that pile of ancient stone
which on nights like this are heard to groan
Rests the spirit of a witch,
Whoits saidwas quite a bitch.

I laughed and gave the clown his due:
He knew a tale to spin its true;
But then he raised an eyebrow high,
And grinning he did then reply:

Believe me or believe me not
I really do not care a tot
For braver men than you have found
Their child within on that bad ground.
So stay and take of this towns fare
And leave the thrills to those who dare.

I cursed the clown for his insult,
And swore I had the balls;
To cross the moor with all due haste,
And wander through those fallen walls.
And if I spy that ghostly witch,
Ill pitch her in the nearest ditch!

Without another word I turned
And started out upon my trek.
In vain the rain beat on my back,
And icy winds clawed at my neck.
But winter and its cruel attack
Was not enough to turn me back.

At last I chanced to spy the debris
Of which the clown had spoke;
And from the ruin I could see
A rising plume of smoke.

I sneered and then picked up my pace
What need a ghost of warmth and light?
If it be a witch that haunts this place
Then may my hide she bite!

I entered through the ruined gate
And clearly heard a groan:
Above the howling wind and rain
The very walls, they seemed to moan.
Nonsense! My resolve stayed true
(But my skin had lightened in hue).

The ruin held a single room
Which moss and lichen had made home;
A camp-fire, centred on the floor
Let shadows loose on walls to roam.
But still there was no witch to see,
To cast her spells and cackle with glee.

I crossed the room to warm my feet,
But found the fire gave no heat,
And when I saw within the flames
A face, my heart did skip a beat.

A severed head: a womans lips did part,
And out of that most grisly maw
A snake-like tongue did dart.
In shock, with haste I did withdraw.

Quick through the gate, across the moor
While Hells Hounds sang my death;
I ran for all my life was worth
And dared not stop to catch my breath.
In time I reached that graven town,
But nowhere did I spy that clown.

It fact, I found no one at all
And that old town began to fade,
And as the dream flew from my mind,
I realised just what had played
Upon my fevered brain last night
Just what had caused that night-time fright:

If its nightmares that you wish to ease
Eat not sandwiches of toasted cheese!

--G.T.

Have a great day, sweetness