By Steve Brian, November 14, 2019
By Steve Brian, November 14, 2019
Come closer all and gather near,
What follows this may give ye fear.
So still ye all and hear this tale,
Of gloomy woe beyond the pale.
In Buckman hood, just south of Stark,
Find ye may the creeping dark,
With murky crypts and molding bones,
Amidst these residential zones.
A cemetery called Lone Fir,
Where ghouls and specters oft will stir,
Beware the view from Morrison,
Where might ye learn the horrors done.
If ye be brave and fear no ills,
On in ye stroll, light-dappled spills,
And rove ye shall amongst the graves,
When reverent awe a body craves.
If stress ye have should need release,
Discover here a place of peace,
And still the storm within thy chest,
With those that keep eternal rest.
And should thy feet need exercise,
Thy legs ye stretch under the skies
Above the green and mossy tombs
Of pioneers with varied dooms.
With residents of famous name,
To find them all would be a game;
A captain dead, a prostitute,
Among the passed of ill-repute.
For those that yearn for mystery,
And treasure dear this history,
In seeking those that also think,
With cursor mouse, ye click this link.