The park is getting dark
And the dusk is rather cold
A fog is creeping in
And the shadows become bold
The giggle of a hiding child
The growl of a stalking beast
A snap and rustle in woods nearby
— will I be its feast?
I think back to the early morn,
When I took this shady dare
To chase the ghost in Holy Park
with her mane of fiery hair
A flash between the trees,
The tail of a flowing flame
My ...