While walking down a verdant valley trail,
I saw the fog that gathered ’round the town.
And remembered an old, eerie folktale
about a village settled in a vale,
and felt my breath catch like I would now drown
while walking down that verdant valley trail.
In the tale, travelers heard a steady wail,
but found town ancient, empty, and run down.
Why remember that old, eerie folktale?
The sound I heard was like a flapping sail.
They must have set the flag and hunkered down,
while I was walking that green valley trail.
But snapping flags require some kind of gale.
This air was too still to rustle a nightgown
as I remembered that spooky folktale.
“Is that a boiling kettle or a wail?”
I ask as I have my nervous breakdown,
while walking down that verdant valley trail,
remembering that old, eerie folktale.