Scare

In the hush of night the wind does sigh,
A rustle in the hedgerow, a fleeting eye.
Shadows crawl across the garden wall,
A whispering chill that makes the brave‑heart stall.

A lantern sputters, amber‑gold,
Its trembling flame tells tales untold—
Of footsteps soft on gravel paths,
Of breaths held tight in darkened aftermath.

The old oak groans, its branches bare,
Like skeletal hands flung in despair.
Leaves shiver, whispering a low refrain,
A mournful hymn of fear and pain.

Yet in that fright a strange delight,
A pulse that quickens, sharp as night.
For every scare is but a thread
That weaves the tapestry of dread—
And in the trembling, we find the gleam
Of courage born from waking dream.