Hunter’s Stew
Posted May 20, 2005
Last Updated Jun 21, 2012
We’d oft been warned to stay away from the dangers of Parsons Woods,
but the old oak trees are mottled grey and drenched in moss
An overhanging canopy that draws us ever deeper
into its haunted forest
Jake and I are holding hands as we trudge along
the root infested road
We hear the hoot owls screeching, “Leave here while you can”
The breeze exchanges secrets with the dark sky overhead
We’re pelted by cold raindrops;
make a hasty run for Hunter’s Lair
We dash right in and warm ourselves;
there are smells of bubbling stew
Bright fire is roaring and the table’s laid
with plates of burnished gold
We walk around, call out our presence,
but no one says they’re home
Jake says, “I sure am hungry, do you think they’d really mind?”
He doesn’t wait for answers as he fills an empty bowl;
dives right in, then smacks his lips
“This is food to certainly die for!”
That’s when the front door loudly creaks;
Angus MacGee, a rotting corpse of untold years,
comes proudly strutting in
“I see ye’ve eaten heartily of the Devil’s moonwake bounty
so I’ll play ye a rightful song, one that’s seldom heard
called ‘Resurrection of the Dead’”
His bagpipes herald mournfully, a funeral marching tune
He unrolls a parchment paper and begins to read each line
“Today I’ve made a blooded pact with me friend, Beelzebub
Your innocent soul is pledged to Hell; it’ll take the place of mine
To quote the Man Below ‘Those who taste of Death’s hot stew
are next in line to die’
Ye, young lad are destined for the Valley of the Damned
While me life’s returned full measure to live in Bonny Scotland”
Jake’s form begins to quaver; he fades in and out of sight
While Angus MacGee’s hair turns carrot red,
his face fleshed out, quite ruddy
“Ye, young lass won’t live or die
your soul’s been relegated to Virgin’s Limbo;
ye’ll be shadowing Death forever, preparing Hunter’s Stew”
but the old oak trees are mottled grey and drenched in moss
An overhanging canopy that draws us ever deeper
into its haunted forest
Jake and I are holding hands as we trudge along
the root infested road
We hear the hoot owls screeching, “Leave here while you can”
The breeze exchanges secrets with the dark sky overhead
We’re pelted by cold raindrops;
make a hasty run for Hunter’s Lair
We dash right in and warm ourselves;
there are smells of bubbling stew
Bright fire is roaring and the table’s laid
with plates of burnished gold
We walk around, call out our presence,
but no one says they’re home
Jake says, “I sure am hungry, do you think they’d really mind?”
He doesn’t wait for answers as he fills an empty bowl;
dives right in, then smacks his lips
“This is food to certainly die for!”
That’s when the front door loudly creaks;
Angus MacGee, a rotting corpse of untold years,
comes proudly strutting in
“I see ye’ve eaten heartily of the Devil’s moonwake bounty
so I’ll play ye a rightful song, one that’s seldom heard
called ‘Resurrection of the Dead’”
His bagpipes herald mournfully, a funeral marching tune
He unrolls a parchment paper and begins to read each line
“Today I’ve made a blooded pact with me friend, Beelzebub
Your innocent soul is pledged to Hell; it’ll take the place of mine
To quote the Man Below ‘Those who taste of Death’s hot stew
are next in line to die’
Ye, young lad are destined for the Valley of the Damned
While me life’s returned full measure to live in Bonny Scotland”
Jake’s form begins to quaver; he fades in and out of sight
While Angus MacGee’s hair turns carrot red,
his face fleshed out, quite ruddy
“Ye, young lass won’t live or die
your soul’s been relegated to Virgin’s Limbo;
ye’ll be shadowing Death forever, preparing Hunter’s Stew”
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