Dunwich farm stuck between hills,
The road far from others.
Past streams, black as total night,
Last house, miles past town;
Curtain of life, hides secrets long-dead
River churning past dawn,
Drawn, tired, he waits;
Watches with a sense of dread
Upon seeing death, he dares the dark.
Near dead figures are
Shuffling, stumbling,
Moving towards the Devil's Hopyard
Where the ceremony of death
Hangs heavy, stealing breath from those
Still alive. Spotted at the last, he runs
In terror from the crucible of fear.
Copyright 1997 Tracy Ambuehl
First Appearance: The Innsmouth Archive
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