Glenorie Manor Poem by Wayne Leon Learmond

{1837)

Gather round. And settle down
And let us make ourselves at home
And let us talk of all things dark
For within this Manor, we were born.
Let us talk of shadowy shades

Of lovers, past, that once did roam
these halls of this great residence
So empty now, and so alone.

And let us talk of jealousy
Of murder and madness
that took place.

And of ethereal shades
that roamed the face
of these halls and grounds
through these Manor gates.

Whispers, sly
while backs are turned
of incestuous passion -
bedrooms burned
with heated desire
behind locked doors

With the howling
of the wolves
upon those open moors

Let us talk of many things
Of ballroom dances
cursed diamond rings
Of masquerades, so big
and grand.

Of servant girls
who hand in hand
did copulate
and did conceive
of devil's spawn
from devil's seed.

Yes, this house
held many more
secrets
behind these
grandiose doors.

But alas, I feel
our time is up
For we have already
supped from this cup.

Yes, of memories past
we have talked
We are the memories
that we thought,

would last forever
whilst alive
But now we are dead -
yet still survive.

Now cursed to roam
and wander, forever
within these
desolate grounds
of

GLENORIE MANOR...

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