Have you ever walked a lonely road, on a cold and cheerless night, and watched the moon make silvery paths,with beams of silvery light? Did you see a farm that hides its face, behind the moaning trees?Then from its core, a voice would speak, a frightened, warning breeze. Atop a hill, before your eyes,you see a lonely shed,Then chills begin within your spine; your heart is filled with dread. An iron fence lines shadowed trees that guard eternal beds. And lying there are mounds of earth with tombs that top their heads. A crusty path makes circling rounds,a sweeping oak draws breath. The sunken plots of crumbling earth are worn and lie in death.You gaze around with cautious eyes. You think you hear a sound.Your lungs are choked, your frightened heart with broken sobs is drowned. A ghostly form peers out at you. You scream and turn to flee. As you go, you turn your head, but a tomb is all you see. Like markers in a garden row, the dark tombs speak their piece.They tell of lives now lost in years and fading dreams that cease. Six feet down and miles of air is all that they now own. Their body’s gone, turned to dust so now their spirits roam. Lost in thought, you wander through, this last hotel for souls and think these empty useless ones are like their empty holes. You cross a mound and say a prayer that you’ve not disturbed the dead and you know that someday soon you’ll lie there instead. The clanking gate beckons you. You force yourself to walk; and all the time you hear a voice call out a knowing mock.