As I slept, dipped & slipped into dreamful sleep,
As I dropped & I dawdled into Morpheus deep,
I traipsed through the night of a million moons,
Garbed in feathered robes of ravens soft plumes.
As I amble past tombs of those now long gone,
I hear on the breeze, the Goddesses’ lost song,
The soft wailing of wolves & Pan on horned pipe,
In the silence of night, the quince falls heavily ripe.
I hear the rustle of old leaves in cold autumn breeze,
I see blood-red eyes of bats in the skeleton of trees,
I wend through the cemetery to church in the woods,
Where monks on their knees are chanting in hoods.
A shriek, a shiver & a tremble, cold fingers grip tight,
I whirl around in circles, searching day´s peeping light,
And as I turn corners, I hear the blood-curdling scream,
A finger-tip of daylight & I return from dark Gothic dream.