The House on the Crag

It sits alone, of wooden bone.

It heaps darkly at the edge of town,

a toothless old troll peering down.

It sits on a high hill you see,

far, far away from you or me.

And there upon its lonely crag,

Its eaves beneath the willows sag,

and it cries and moans against the sky,

for it fears the goblins are drawing nigh

The goblins who dance in robes of fire

Ever attempting to reach their sire

By filling the world with glowing flame,

they hope to someday their home reclaim.

For the hill-house is a goblin spot,

upon its hill where it sits and rots.

They sing of it in dark voices cold

and sip starwine to make them bold

They speak brave words and of great deeds

but the truth is they are but seeds

of dark dreams that will never grow,

the house,. you see, is white with snow.

With no windows to keep snow out

There is little chance flame will spout

But the goblins, they scheme and plan.

the can't stop dreaming of lost Feran..

So old house, so long forgotten,

wrap yourself in your cold cotton,

The goblins can never come near

You have very little to fear.

Rest in peace old bones of wood

A hundred years you have stood

And never goblin flame or spark

will ever send you to the dark.