The vicar was doing renovations

His churchyard wall needed repair

A pile of waste stone remained

Who took it he didn't seem to care

 

My share made a fine rockery

Planted with Alpine flowers

There in the moonlight it lies

Above it a yew tree towers

 

How those stones seem to glow!

Do I hear church bells at night?

I've drawn the conservatory curtains

Those rocks now a disturbing sight

 

Holy stones like that witness so much,

Funerals from an ancient date

What spirits slept in their strata?

Are they angry at their fate?

 

Even the tom-cat avoids them

Spraying my cabbages instead

Is it merely superstition

Or am I fixated on the dead?

 

My spring gentians have died

Nothing grows in that doomed soil

Its killed my herbs and best rhubarb

My efforts are mere wasted toil

 

These morbid moods grow longer

My dreams are haunted by stones

The rockery has become a mockery and

Last night I heard strange groans

 

Today the rockery is no more for

I've piled the stones in a barrow

And advertised them on-line

For someone else to harrow

 

Yesterday the poor vicar died

At a relatively young age

Was it the reverend's punishment

For his unwitting sacrilege?

 

But what is to be my fate?

The new vicar wont intervene

The exorcist he recommended

Downed tools and fled the scene

 

At last I've accepted my lot

The house has gone up for sale

As I sit here at midnight hearing voices

Is it me or the wind that seems to wail?