The Old Haunting Grounds

Those crooked tombs
Have been scrubbed and repaired
Stained-glass, covered with a casing of metalwork
But still, the nooks of old stone
Whisper their fond memories
Of clandestine fondling
And kisses stolen
Beneath the towering cross

The ancient oak
Gaping hole in its trunk
Filled with dead leaves and stagnant water
Bears witness to better times
Though, the hunt never really ends
The perpetual padding of paws
Upon rain-swept grounds
Hell-bent on the trail
Of a pretty girl


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