As I approach the dark, almost threatening, house

I feel the prescience of impending doom.

While I walk the silent pathway,

I notice the previously lush lawn

Is black.

Roses wilt on their vines,

Hydrangeas sadly droop.

As I enter the dank hallway,

The marrow chills in my bones.

Blood, almost black with age,

Drips down the walls.

The silence is deafening.

With intense trepidation

I open a creaking door.

My wife sits, stiff backed,

Almost frozen in time.

Through a thin smile

She says;

"My Mother's come to stay"

"For a few days"

"Isn't that nice, darling??"

                                                       _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Owain Glyn