Where Worms Heave Ho The Ghosts of Old

A tattered book blows open on a dusty road.

Three elfish images settle on the dry pages.

They yawn then look at the rising sun

with the words grumbling at their feet.

The dust whirls within the swirling air,

a feeling prancing, dancing over the fields. 

Ghostly Bisons graze in the sunlight,

bleeding on the roofs of sleeping worms.

The elves twirl the words awake,

dancing a jig over the dusty book.

Grunts and groans rise from below

where worms heave ho the ghosts of old.

The words work their way up from memory

while the slim elves sink into the shadows.

The ghostly bison fade, rising on the wind,

their hoof beats thunder over billowing clouds.

Drops of rain dissolve on the winding road.

A gust of wind slams shut the tattered book.