Swamp Demons

The lights that wink across the sodden moor Like phosphorescent eyes that beckon men To risk fell footsteps in the treacherous fen, And sink in loathsome muck, without a spoor— What ghosts of former days, what dread allure. Abides within this subterranean den? Or, reaching out, snares victims to its ken, With wraith-like fingers, to a peril sure?

'Tis told that evil things lurk out of sight With human bones that fester in the ooze; Belike 'tis true, these bones that once were clothed In fleshly form now harbor deadly spite Against the living, and this swamp still brews Within its bubbling depths the curse men loathed Before they turned to leprous Things of Night! C.A. Butz