Kate stumbles in the snow beneath a surly Moon

stalked by a noisy crow, an omen of her doom

«Will you stop the cawing though? it doesn't help my gloom!

I hardly feel my toes, I need to be home soon»

 

​

The crow pecks at her neck, «Look! the witching hour nears!»  

she curses «What the heck‽ Why won’t you disappear?

I think I lost the path», she turns around in fear

«There is no going back», he whispers in her ear.

 

​

Six bells toll in the night, and then another six

Kate finds a wooden sign, «Yes, this will do the trick!»

but words are undefined, the wood beneath is sick

a language so malign that no one dares to speak. 

 

​

«In this old bewitched land», the crow begins to read

«The night shall never end upon the bitterweed

once ruled by the lamb, it has finally been freed

by a sly, black rebellious ram who disagreed»

 

​

«Riddles are no fun»  says Kate, «This doesn’t help at all!

really, no more Sun? never ending nightfall?

that I really shun, I’ve had it with this haul

I cannot walk or run, I cannot even crawl»

 

«Stopping really isn’t wise»  says the crow to Kate

but belly up she lies now, waiting on her fate

gazing at the starless sky, too tired to debate

«I think I’ll rest my eyes a bit and ruminate»

 

​

A terrifying roar, Kate finally comes to

«How long was I out for? half an hour, maybe two?»

her legs and back are sore, her feet and hands are too

«Did I just hear a boar? I could go for a stew...»

 

​

Her planning for a munch is cut short by a brute

so loud is the scrunch of his heavy leather boots

rocking a whole bunch of big patches on his suit

the big fella hunches as he trips over her foot.

 

«Well howdy little lass, why is you on the ground?

why would you trespass darling? your thinking isn’t sound

disturbing the morass, you shoulda turned around

kids! always giving sass, until they hear the hounds!»

 

​

Like a chunk of frozen meat, motionless and frail

Kate pinches both her feet and «Yep, as stiff as clay.

are those hounds you mentioned sweet? Do they like to play?»

and then she takes a beat. «Now I can hear them bay»

 

​

The brute gives her icy cheeks a gentle lil’ squeeze 

and with no doublespeak he tells her how it is

«Hellhounds are a foul clique, they breed death and disease

their sick, repulsive reek is carried by the breeze»

 

 

«They will run for fifty miles just to get a snack

hunger turns them into vile, nasty maniacs

but worry not and smile now, you can just relax

it might just take a while for them to sniff your tracks»

 

​

The wind drags around a hymn, sinister and sad 

«Is this a fever dream I'm having in my bed?

a cruel little scheme just playing in my head?

 or maybe things are grim and I’m already dead?»

​
 

Kate is shaken by a chill, «Curse this awful song!

I’m very much alive still, ‘til I’m proven wrong

I might be very ill 'cause I've been here too long

but my will to live sure has never been this strong!»

​

​

The brute is not sold by the little speech she gave
no matter how bold her words might be, or how brave
neither from the cold nor the hounds can she be saved

«You ain't growing old miss, you're sitting on your grave»

​

​

Town folks were horrified, as many will attest

even the men cried after what they had assessed

that little Kate had died still wearing her white vest 

her eyes open wide and an axe stuck in her chest.