On a restless night deep within the wood,
Long before the time of our savior's birth,
There waited a dame who so calmly stood
Betwixt the branches in her boastful mirth.
On the eve of war she capered and sang
As her heels punctured the unspoiled earth.
Then forthwith the sound of her voice constrained
She fell to the ground with her shoulders girthed.
On the brink of bliss the parasites came
And mangled her wrists, devoured her worth.
In being the host, this now pillaged dame
Became the lost ghost of man's folly cursed.
The moral herein in words simply terse:
Do not trust a ground where the crowds disperse.
- Alexander McCurdy