Haunted House

Somewhere in the haunted house small boy sings In piping treble against the dark and fear, Flickering candle brushed by dusty wings But not extinguished, his song is faint but clear. As I move through passage, down creaking stair, I hear his crystal courage, his open heart and throat, And follow it, a thread until I find him there, Sitting by the firelight, his hands held out. He turns and smiles, his welcome clear to see, With trust and love evident in his eyes, And in this mirror I catch sight of me, And feel within a courage start to rise. We sit together and though the night is long We lift our hearts and voices in our song.

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© 2018 James Morgan Nash - Writer and Poet - Leeds, West Yorkshire, United Kingdom - james@jamesnash.co.uk 

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