The barrow downs

by Jun 16, 2003Poetry

Old barrows now remain only,
The reminder of a race,
And the barrow wights beware ye,
And show them not thy face.

A land of perilous peril,
‘Tis the land of the standing stones,
And no tree grows there any more
Revered of ancient bones.

Angmars sprits haunt there,
The land where no house is,
And undisturbed is there treasure,
Sceret lore, that ’tis.

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