Where the Spirits Roam

By: Felix L. Perry

Can you nay hear the wind howl o’er the barrens?

Through the glassless eyes of that old house

As lose gray weathered shingles tap a mournful dirge

A funeral song heard no more by man or mouse

The chilly fingers of fog creep in from the Atlantic

The gulls sullenly of impending perils screech

Ghosts lost souls of ancient shipwrecked mariners

Haunt where they once washed up on the beach?

The Devil’s of darkness walk the lighthouse stairs

Shrill demonic laughter can be heard most nights

From mainland shore can be seen spectral fires flare

Passing ships too often report her eerie drifting lights

Bleached white withered bones crunch like eggshells

'neath the feet of those brave enough to land

Or forced to the shoreline trapped by briny sea

Aye… too much for city folk to try and understand

Some questioned what happened to the children’s laughter

That once filled so happy filled that one room school

Dare ask where are the men with voices singing shanties went

Or even the preacher’s sermons on the golden rule

Aye, no one really knows what happened

At least no one wants to speak of these things aloud

But it is whispered on Devil’s Island the spirits roam

And no mere mortal man after dark is allowed…