Silver ripples across the pale lake,
In cold deep, dead eyes catch the moonlight,
Among the reeds, the drowned awake,
One long lost will walk again tonight.
There’s rumours of twisted footprints found,
On mornings after a misty night,
A wandering trail, scrabbling around,
Then back to the lake before first light.
Some have glimpsed a thin apparition,
Dripping green and black, glints of white bone,
And all agree on it’s dark mission -
It does not wish to return alone...
Painting - Watching a Moonlit Lake by John Atkinson Grimshaw
Verse by Jim Moon
