The sun is setting in the west.
A full moon's in the east.
In caverns dark, beneath the ground,
the ghouls prepare to feast.
Burrowing underneath the graves
of humans newly dead,
to drag them from their place of rest
that all ghouls might be fed.
Unholy sustenance so sweet;
on human flesh they dine.
"To Richard Upton Pickman"
toast the revelers with their wine.
The time will come when man forgets,
so of that day beware.
For like a plague spewed forth from Hell,
they'll rise up from their lair.
A colony below the earth,
hid from the sight of men.
Before we walked they ruled the world;
and once more will again.
A canine face and leathery skin
that reek of graveyard mold.
Eager for the danse macabre
with a partner dead and cold.
Copyright 1997 Ron Shiflet
First Appearance: Nightscapes #2
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