The Whistler

Some days I walk amongst the trees,
my second woodland home.
It’s here I feel the most at ease,
at peace to freely roam.

Yet at times I hear a sound,
from things I cannot see.
Behind the scrub they creep around,
at least they leave me be.

Unspoken bond to not disturb,
the way it was arranged.
But although I’ve held my word,
something since has changed.

I sense a presence by the trees,
that fills my heart with woe.
I fight against the urge to flee,
lest should my panic show.

A whistling upon the breeze,
inhuman in its tone.
When I hear its gasping wheeze,
I know I’m not alone.

And when it stops I listen out,
for those who mind the land.
But yet I wander on without,
the silence of the damned.

I hear again its eerie wail,
which seems to follow me.
It lingers just beyond the pale,
that haunting melody.

The darkness gathering around,
is more than what it seems.
No more the fairy folk abound,
The Whistler stalks my dreams.

– J.S.Worth


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