The Messenger

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!