The Eggshells Of The Night

• Laura Nuttall, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2013

You must tread so very lightly on the eggshells of the night,
For many a sound may reach the ears of ghoul or barrow-wight,
A tiny crack may swell into a fiery aftermath,
Where echoes gnash their fangs and wait for those who stray the path,
The path, it winds through rotting swamps of tortured, moaning dead,
And though it is pitch black, they say, you can still see stains of red.

You must tread so very lightly on the eggshells of the night,
For though the yolk of daybreak may be so gold and bright,
The rivulets of sunshine that flow languid downs the sides,
Stagnate and congeal in festering pools no living thing abides,
As for the crows, in murders they come- beaks clattering in discord,
While they fight and feast on desperate dreams as triumphant cries are cawed.

You must tread so very lightly on the eggshells of the night,
But though they will come to smother you with their treacherous delight,
One look or plea to the icy dawn that guides the land to day,
And it will sooth your waning faith and show your feet the way.