Saturday, October 14, 2006

#174: October 14, 2006

Don't ever go to dig on old Bone Hill,
no matter what you hear 'bout buried gold.
There's things crawled through that soil ten centuries old
that, certain autumn nights, may crawl there still.

Strange voices down valley now and then
roll out from Bone Hill's foot like roaring waves;
their owners rest uneasy in their graves
below--their ghosts are not the ghosts of men.

So if you ever go there with your spade
to turn that curs├Ęd earth for riches' sake,
first let the priest say rites over your head.
For in Bone Hill they're angry and awake,
and do not care whether you are afraid
or not--these nameless, ever-watching dead.

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