A Grave Tale

Old Barry Sleight liked to walk late at night

Thru a graveyard not far from his porch

Reading the names on the gravestones

By the light of his rusty old torch

But one night the batteries failed him

And he fell in a newly dug grave

Unconscious, still there in the morning

Unable to shout, scream or wave

The mourners had come to say farewell

To a soldier so steadfast and true

Not knowing that Baz was below them

Recumbent and covered in dew

The bearers were old and short sighted

And hadn’t looked down in that hole

As they lowered the coffin on Barry

Saying prayers for that departed soul

Now they say that on dark foggy evenings

If you happen to pass by that porch

You may see an angry old spectre

Cursing a flickering torch

Photo credit: Skitterphoto on Pexals.com

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