Ghosts in the Woods
And you pause, and you listen, when there's no one about,
You may think you hear voices, scarce more than a whisper,
But then louder and clearer, a blood-curdling shout.
Then tramp, tramp of footsteps, coming nearer and closer,
The clashing and clanging of broad-swords and shields,
ghosts of the Vikings and Saxons are once again fighting,
In the place down the hill, that is called Battlefields.
Do not linger, to ponder over Ingimund's Saga,
Or whether Red Hill was once running with blood,
Do not wait for the fierce ghostly hordes to surround you;
But hurry off home, while the going is good!
Kitty
Stower