Owls hoot, and bats fly blind,
As darkness fills these lands.
Spookiness, a weird kind
Sets trembling in the hands.

The moon peeps through bleak cloud,
To light earth’s dark domains.
Whistles shriek, screeching loud,
From distant racing trains.

The echoes ride the night,
Troubling our anxious souls.
Then as the skies turn bright,
One’s sanity patrols.

Why is it we feel fear,
When all is inky black.
We’re scared when things aren’t clear,
And nervous of attack.

Bats and owls have no dread,
When daylight fills the miles.
They go to sleep instead,
Inside their domiciles.


© Ernestine Northover

Ernestine Northover

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/echoes-ride-the-night/