Dreams of Disquietude
One dull, dreary night, I took a stroll,
And wandered into a blackened lull.
All seemed unfamiliar and quite unwell.
Alone, I strode, stumbled, and nearly fell.
Then far off, through the woods, I saw an old, rickety dock
Reaching out into an illimitable, lightless loch.
On the edge stood a furtive and shadowed man;
Thus seeking help, to him I desperately ran.
Hurrying forth, I shouted as I neared;
But soon lingered something I greatly feared.
As if I were not ever truly there and present,
His inert and inordinate silence—incessant!
‘I implore you to tell me where,’
‘I might find my poor, missing mare?’
‘It is all too late and I’m terribly lost.’
He still said nothing and my bones became frost.
‘Why do you speak not?’ I thus cried.
He then turned to me dead and sighed.
And like a banshee he did scream;
I, too, yelled—for this was no dream.
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