The night seeps in,

The fog settles down.

The damp ground squishes,

beneath my small shoes.

Not a sound is heard,

but the rumble of a carriage.

The thump of horse hooves,

and the low whine of a hound.

The carriage comes to a stop,

The driver hath no head.

When the door opens slowly,

A woman leaned forth.

"Come here, my dear sir,

for you'll catch your death."

I climb into the carriage,

and sit quietly.

'Why come there a carriage,

and a one-eyed hound?'

My thoughts are cleared,

as i remember a story.

There are no explanations,

This is The Moor.