The masterpiece below is, alas, not my own but that of my very talented young son, Andrew. It is inspired by Edgar Allen Poe. Enjoy!
| The voices kept a-whispering His hairs were a-bristling Up front the driver humming The passenger heard a drumming Some ghostly whistles a-whistled The unholy noises had tripled The horse suddenly a-stopped His link has been lost Scared was that very horse The driver’s voice was coarse The driver he had gone Something had to be done Outside where the driver lay On the seventh of May Very clearly he was dead With a skull no head His flesh had rotted away His ribs they did display How he ran that day On the seventh of May Ran for days did he Out he cried, “HELP ME!” The town was almost deserted Of that he was asserted For he saw a figure Who was not much bigger With a wand made of birch She ran into a church A cloak over her face Moving swiftly without a trace Follow her he not should On the altar she stood Raising hand with the wand Also she was a blonde With hair o so long The church went ding dong Some magical words she chanted His back now slightly slanted Being the witch she was Wanted to kill him because “Your final hour”, said she Your death this will be His back had been snapped He had now permanently napped The witch made her move The way out of groove “Here there is no law”, I can control the floor A raven through the door Screeched and cawed, “Never More!” Andrew Dowdell-Stent | 
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