This is one of my earliest ever poems, this and Iron Pyrite. I can remember writing this one, from a photograph of Stone Henge, when I was 8.

In the misty night,
In the darkness deep,
The moon shone over the Stone Henge
Making shadows and ghosts leap.
Creepy noises fill the night's silence
And the mists fall over the grass.

The wind howls like a werewolf
The stones rattle like snakes in pain
The wind grabs you and lures you to your death
And demons howl and laugh at your
Then the stones start crumbling away
And you, suddenly, are DEAD!

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