ash phillips
in the style of shakespeare
**The Haunting of Ash Phillips**
In twilight’s dread embrace, where shadows creep,
Did Ash Phillips dwell, ‘neath the moon’s cold keep.
His visage pale, a specter in the night,
Whispers of the grave sung of his plight.
Oft did he saunter, where the oaks entwine,
Lost in dark reveries, midst folklore’s fine line.
“Beware,” did croak the crow, with beady eye,
“For he who treads where phantoms never die.”
Lo! ‘Twas a night when the grave dirt stirred,
And Ash, with ghostly echoes, spoke unheard.
‘Neath starlit glances, he weaves shadows’ art,
A soul entwined with specters, half a heart.