Phantom spirit, ‘neath shroud of green

tangled ivy, wrapped in strangle-hold

around your form unseen.

What lurks hidden until the light

of fading day is by the earth consumed

to welcome spectres of the night?

Can your dark visage be so vile

that you should cower like some clandestine soul

condemned to haunt this vault with artful guile?

Furtive form, reveal yourself so

eyes might see the nature of your being,

or skulk forever with them that passed below.

***

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