The Omen Poem by Thomas Vaughan Jones

There's a clatter of hooves on the dusty road,
then the strident sound of the old school bell.
For a stranger stands in the village square
and he has a terrible tale to tell.

His jaw hangs slack as he tries to speak,
with his eyes glazed wide with unbridled fright.
His shaking hand points to the west
through the deep dark depths of impassive night.

His head hangs down in abject fear.
His face is drawn and ashen pale.
His voice holds the quiver of aspen leaves
as he starts to relate his fearsome tale.

'My love is taken by the beast
He has bound her fast in the finest gold
He has stolen away her wedding gown
and dressed her corpse in a graveyard mould

He came to her in the dead of night,
no signal marked his silent tread,
no voice, no footstep marked his course,
and his visage marked one who was long since dead.

We were only married for but one week
and my bride was full of the joy of Life,
but the spectre carried it all away,
and left me weeping for my wife.”

The message he gave was softly passed
like the whispering leaves in a willow tree,
as he bade me take it to the world
that nothing remains for Eternity.

No love no joy, nor foolish jest,
no comfort found in passion’s pleasure.
Nothing to mark our earthly past
once we depart from life’s last measure”

His eyes locked tight in a grievous stare,
the stranger’s voice was wracked with pain,
and speaking thus fell to the ground.

Nevermore to rise again.