I sat in my small corner <br />reading some poetry <br />and then I felt a ghostly hand <br />had taken hold of me. <br /> <br />It was an Ancient Rhymester <br />who fixed me with his glare. <br />I could but watch and wonder <br />Transfixed beneath his stare. <br /> <br />'Who are you, Ancient Rhymester? <br />Why do you look so pale? ' <br />The Rhymester sighed, a ghastly sigh, <br />and then began his tale. <br /> <br />'I came to tell my story <br />In poetry and rhyme, <br />of how the Muse's glory <br />has stood the test of time. <br /> <br />The many themes and formats, <br />the pleasures to be shared <br />and yet, to my amazement <br />I found that no-one cared. <br /> <br /> <br />I wrote of ancient legends <br />couched in an ancient tongue, <br />of all the many facets <br />that make a poet's song. <br /> <br />I told of all the wonder <br />that lay in poetry, <br />and all I found was silence <br />reflected back to me.' <br /> <br />Thus spoke the Ancient Rhymester, <br />then floating cross the floor. <br />with eyes fixed fast upon me <br />passed through my shuttered door. <br /> <br />When once the spell was lifted <br />I called to bid him stay. <br />Alas! His spectral presence <br />Had drifted far away. <br /> <br />Nothing to mark his visit, <br />only an icy chill, <br />and a tiny stain from a tear drop <br />that marred my window sill.<br /><br />Thomas Vaughan Jones<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-tale-of-the-ancient-rhymester/
