Half-Cut Through The Fields At Night Poem by Paddy J. P. Harris

Alone I trudge over leaves and sludge,
In the dead lone cold of night.
Each noise I make, my heart does quake
Amidst this shadow realm of fright.
And from my thoughts all memories flee
Of this fair land once drench in light,
When one could walk for a mile or more
And think of naught but the daily chore.
Gone such idle fancies free, I dare not turn my head.
The world’s a haunt of untamed thoughts,
Within each shadow and sighing tree,
Awaits a wight to frighten me.