Barrow-Wights

Where hill and hollow cradle fog and bone,
And ancient stones lie cold beneath the dew,
They stir in silence, trapped and left alone—
A shadow’s breath the sun may not undo.

Once kings or lords, now cursed to restless sleep,
Their treasure buried deep with oath and lie.
They murmur chants where secrets darkly creep,
And chill the soul of all who wander nigh.

No warmth remains within their hollow gaze,
No memory but hunger’s ghastly art.
They bind the living in a timeless haze,
And suck the courage from the bravest heart.

So heed the hills where twilight grips too tight—
The barrow breathes with old, forgotten night.