Appleseed Grove by boneyard grows
Two entwined as seeds first sowed,
Aside a hill to far below,
Apples blanket graves of departed souls.
Murderers moon rises on high
Gnarled branches silhouette sky.
Caustic aromas of dead most sour,
Abominable aberrations at witches hour.
Hobgoblins flitting to surround
As wisps of fog float low to ground.
A howling shatters dead silence,
Nothing there! Save mayhem and malice.
Eerie moans of tortured dead souls
Hanged by neck generations ago,
Arising they stalk the dire night
To visit the living with frigid fright.
Deeper we crawl to hide our heads,
Ruing that night to forsake warm beds.
Sleeping out where darkest evil roves,
I’ll won’t soon forget Appleseed Grove.
©Written by: by Kenneth J. Ellison 07-07-03
POETRY BY KEN:
Page Created : Pam Gallo