The Haunted Manor

By

Bobette Bryan

Dusty halls of maddened gloom Thick in the air Like Death’s perfume, Shadows, black, and bilious cracks, Sinking, slinking, and silently weeping; An air of desolation and doom Empty rooms of grim despair; Silent and cold December air. Still and gray with hideous decay, Moaning, groaning, and carefully honing, Illusions of yesterday’s fare. Musty trails of secret tales, A place where death And blackness dwells, Old and Brown, mystery abounds, Haunting, daunting, patiently waiting, For newfound souls to steal.