The Spectre

THE SPECTRE

The wind howled shrill, the panes to lash
And ripped my mind from dreams and rest
I heard moans trail; then the bulbs smash
In my heart I feared a fiendish guest.
The air turned gelid, I raced to flee
To gain the stairs and cool my dread
And face the form I braced to see.
He glared; he scowled; this man long dead
Who stalks this house, my peace to haunt
With malice in mind his tall grim shade
Strode up to menace and with power taunt
In his hand he raised his bloodstained blade.