Ghostlings by Dorothy Quick
Out of the silence of the night
Come icy fingers tipped with snow,
And a strange thin piping
That no birds know.
And there are misty figures
Ringing the world apart;
Casting unbearable terror
All around the heart.
Gaping, senseless, horrid faces
Coming from another world;
There are the nameless ghostlings.
The dark unfurled.
These are the nameless ghostlings.
Creeping slowly as the mist.
To weave the spells of horror
No mortal can resist.
Darkling, I Listen 