Above the Mire
In the graveyard’s hush, a solemn choir,Where ghosts in shadows softly conspire,You rise with flair,Beyond the despair,And laugh at the ghoulish quagmire.Through tombstones stacked in silent disdain,Where the dead play their eerie refrain,You swagger with pride,While specters deride,And mock their lamenting campaign.The moon casts its pallor so stark,On the graves where the lost leave their mark,Yet you prance, undaunted,By spirits taunted,And dance in the chill of the dark.With each spectral whisper and moan,You stride through the core of bone,Their mournful dirge,Your courage does surge,As you make the night yours alone.In the graveyard’s fog, thick and grim,Where the night’s melody is dim,You rise with a sneer,And defy every fear,With a flick of your wand or whim.Though the dead’s choir hums a bleak song,And their whispers in shadows prolong,You step through the gloom,With laughter that looms,And show that the night’s just a throng.The graveyard’s hush, a solemn choir,Yet you rise above the mire.