Threat-filled gusts carouse this night.
Through trees the moon casts fingers:
Shadows long, clutching and bent;
Their grip on one’s heart lingers.
Solemn statues line the drive,
Each stony visage haunting;
Golem-life they seem to have
(Endowed, somehow): dumb, daunting.
Gravel grinds beneath my shoes,
Shifts, scrunching, under tip-toes;
Silent though I strive to stride,
Each crunch (so loud!) yet echoes.
Starting up steps to the door (the key -
Yes - in my pocket!)
To enter – late - unheard, I creep-
Pray wife’s asleep! – then lock it.
[I caught just in time, before sending in the entry, my error - carelessly having S3L2 begin 'Moves', which has become 'Shifts' to suit S3L1's end].
I also, late on, rewrote L1 from 'Wild and windy was the night' to something less hackneyed.]
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