June 30th, 2008

poetry, exceptindreams

236: What the Camper Hears

“What the Camper Hears”
Omar Barker

Sometimes I think the Demon from his inky pit
Has wriggled up to howl his curses through the night,
Or maybe that some poor lost soul is doomed to flit
In outer dark, and wails to heaven his dismal plight.

Beyond my cabin walls I know the pines are still,
And through their branches shines the moon with goulish light--
Ah! how the cry that rises through them from the hill
Unnerves me! I shiver, although not with fright.

Because I know, despite the terror in that call
That chills my blood and makes me draw the covers tight,
The fiendish yell and ghastly, ghostly wail are all
Some hungry, lonely coyote howling in the night.
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