Pig

Lost on the sullen moors one rainy night
when on the air wild autumn wailed, my torch
and dog for comfort, I came down the hill
and chanced upon the bleakest place of all -
a circle in the bitter bracken, scorched
where once red blood had spouted from a wound,
the lonely spot where on a morning clear
mad Jeanie cut her wrists, not to be found
till one week later when her sweet young John
went fast across, in fearful mood, and vowed
that he'd be back ere nightfall. It was not
until the sun was high above the fields
that he came limping back, a frightened stare
in bulging eyes, and stammering of things
he'd seen that night. The village went to look
and found her where he'd said he'd been, and word
soon spread that he had done her wrong; the ghost
must have been waiting for him there. Since then
the scene, so full of noises, knows its mark:
a faint grey flame, a beacon in the dark
and as I saw it I turned back and ran -
it was no earthly person there that went
straight for my throat; nor was she wronged by John.
When that young fool was out one market day
I found her in, and had my will of her,
and she could just not take it in good jest
but tore her hair and raved of guilt and dread
and what would Johnny think - the bloody fool -
and took a knife and rushed out of the house.
I stood and saw her vanish down the moors
but to be found again with Johnny's aid -
I'll no more go there till her ghost is laid.