The Legend of Mars Hill

The country folks
from miles around
still talk of the night
out on Mars Hill

When the eerie light
of a misty moon
brought on this night
a haunting croon

of blustery winds
whipping leaves off trees
in a wild din of
chilling intrigue.

A coven of witches
crept to the yard
of the Mars Hill Church
where they drove a cross.

Their droning chants
joined the Banshee
wind's wail as sacrificial
blood was spilled.

A torch was lit
that fed the fire
that burned the cross
on their witches' pyre.

Tombstones toppled
by shadowed forms
woke sleeping ghosts
in the old graveyard.

A hoot owl joined
the ghostly tribe
of ancient ones
who swooped the sky.

Skeletal trees reached
in eerie pursuit
of their ghoulish dance
'cross the gilded moon.

Shivery mice
fled wind-blown sparks
from crisp dry leaves
feeding the fire.

Dry husks whispered
a trail in the field
as black cats prowled,
searching for meals.

Shivery black bats
swooped the churchyard,
adding terror to the scene
with large dramatic arcs.

Shaking behind bushes,
quaking behind trees,
hid three young children,
watching the grisly scene.

As ghostly winds wailed
and hoot owls mourned,
as wind whipped trees
creaked and groaned,

Witches called curses
up from the ground,
raining demonds down
on the unsuspecting town.

Shrieking like the
Banshee winds they called
past midnight when
the roaring fire palled.

Those Banshee winds
left a wailing song
that lingers still,
mourning the wrong

That occurred above
the trestle bridge
nestled near the
foot of Mars Hill Ridge.

'Cry Baby' Bridge
it soon was called.
The painted words
drip like old blood.

Yes, the country folks
from miles aorund still
talk of that night
out on Mars Hill

When teens on a
rampage, went wild,
or a teasing neighbor
behaved like a child,

Never dreaming
how very far from
anything resembling
the truth they are.

Yet, three frightened children
from our small town
told me a haunting tale
of a night on Mars Hill

When their mother,
singing pagan songs,
danced in the firelight,
casting ancient spells

Beneath a misty
harvest moon,
shrouded in
smoky clouds

Veiled in a
blanket of mystery
until three found
courage to tell.

Of blood smeared over
the doorways of
the cursed who fell
under those spells.

Love, Jody