The Winding Road

Deep within a meadow,

Underneath a willow,

There was a long gravel path,

And a tall black shadow.

It stood by a curve,

In the winding road,

And nobody dared, none had the nerve,

To travel down the uncanny crook.

And so the figure was free to move,

He travelled to and from the grooves,

That lay along the winding road.

Old legends surrounded this black shadow,

Legends about it haunting the meadow.

And it was said;

Whoever neared the silhouette,

Soon ended up upon his deathbed.

When it was time for the sun to rise,

The shadow considered it a reprieve,

Thus it disappeared behind the willow,

Only to return when the sun had set,

When the golden orb had gone back to bed.

The moon shone among the misty clouds,

Accompanied by the werewolves howls,

And the bats hung upside down,

From the branches of the trees around.

And the shadow strode lonely, bored,

On the path, led by the winding road.