Castle Hill
On a hill where the trees have no life
and the bands of the dead with drums and fife,
play on at the gates of the olden castle
where Dracula and his evil spirits dwell.
Those who ventured up the craggy hill
made it to the castle in time for the kill,
ne’er to come back to say where they went
as all hell broke loose and released its scent,
and the witches and the bats swirled around
the Autum moon to never touch the ground.
Robert L. Martin
robertlmartin.com
This was written for the Belt and Beyond.
