Will-o'-the-wisp
Foolish fire how dare you make presence? In this here marsh with your evil essence. You are make-believe to my eye. Why fly when you do not take to the sky? Why flitter as though you were a critter? To draw my anger and feed the town’s superstition… I dare you to follow as I retreat, for when I edge closer, away you scurry – why so scared of me? Foolish, yielding and elusive light. Your wonder has made me often ponder. This night I dismiss it will. That you may be the ghost, of my old Bill…Who died in the waters of that troubled lake…? That maybe the spirits his soul, really did take…
