Sunset, and moor-fog crawls in; Engulfing
Me in a blanket of dark, damp, loneliness.
I stroll down a rock strewn road, with false
Temerity; As the mummers evening revels,
At my expense.

Something lurks in the woods, unseen; But, I
Know it's here. As I move deeper into
This illimitable fog, up my spine
Runs a spider of fear. . . . . . . . My pace quickens.

As I stumble down this puddled lane, the
Moon slinks out of view. A swoosh of brush off
To one side, but my lanterns light is swallowed
By the gloom.

A demonic growl I heard, (I think?) I
Know I did. Just ahead! I stop (It must
Have passed in the under-brush) and swallow
Hard; As the blood drains from my head.

The fog swirls. . . I see it, There! No (sigh)
Just brush by the road. A tentative step,
And the vision moves: The spider takes
A firmer hold. From it's reddened eyes and

Frothing mouth, Grotesque, sub-human frame, my
Mind shudders with muffled moans, that it can
No longer contain. I would turn back, but
The fear is strong, of its presence lunging

Up from behind. My doom is set, I have
No chance, as the spider feasts on my mind.
The moon is gone, the mist has cleared, sunshine
Floods the lane; Etching shadows, of those who