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NO NEWS IS GOOD NEWS

R

Robert Harrison

Guest
Cold wind howled across a bleak Bodmin Moor
As westward the horse drawn coach hurried on.
Black manes did whip six sweating black necks
And dark was the night as the mares pulled as one.

Their misted breath fanned out of nostels flared
As they obeyed the crack of coachman's whip
Hurried the six, black as the night they all shared
Until they saw the lights of The Mariners Ship.

Whoa, whoa ye black fiends the coachman did cry
As he pulled back on the reins with his might
And four pale passengers did alight with a sigh
For The Mariners Ship was their rest for the night

Dark ale was drunk freely by the men of the group
While the ladies sat by the fire with their Sherry
And hunks of bread and cheese, followed by soup
And the four pale passengers retired seemingly merry.

At twelve on the hour their doors slowly did open
And into their rooms crept four hooded men.
Then raising their daggers without having spoken
Plunged them into the sleeping forms again and again.

The morning saw the four in the inns warm empty stable
Dividing what spoils they had stolen that night
When in walked their victims still pale but able
And the four just stared and began shaking with fright.

The four living dead advanced with drawn swords
The men's were sabres while the ladies held rapiers.
Then without warning four heads flew skywards,
There left, with not even a mentioned in the evening's papers.
 
My kinda poem Robert reminds me of "Bess" the landladies black eyed daughter or was it called
The Highwayman came riding ?
Great Stuff
I love the way you tell it
 
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