The messenger

The Messenger

by

The thing, he said, would come in the night at three

From the old churchyard on the hill below;

But crouching by an oak fire’s wholesome glow,

I tried to tell myself it could not be.

Surely, I mused, it was pleasantry

Devised by one who did not truly know

The Elder Sign, bequeathed from long ago,

That sets the fumbling forms of darkness free.

He had not meant it–no–but still I lit

Another lamp as starry Leo climbed

Out of the Seekonk, and a steeple chimed

Three–and the firelight faded, bit by bit.

Then at the door that cautious rattling came–

And the mad truth devoured me like a flame!