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Dorothy Quick: Ghostlings

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Out of the silence of the night

Come icy fingers tipped with snow,

And a strange thin piping

That no birds know.

 

And there are misty figures

Ringing all the world apart;

Casting unbearable terror

Around the heart.

 

Gaping, senseless, horrid faces

Coming from another world;

These are the nameless ghostlings,

The dark unfurled.

 

These are the nameless ghostlings,

Creeping slowly as the mist,

To weave the spells of horror

No mortal can resist.



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