Lodged at the end of a mountain pass

Is a mansion with a greenhouse on its left.

A garden path where lovers walked

Now full of weeds and neglect.

The gate swings open on rusty hinges,

And thunder peals far off.

The night is cloudy and cold,

Not the first that house has known.

At the entrance to the greenhouse

A pair of hedge clippers leans against the glass.

Cobwebs between the handles, 

Rusted and unused blades.

Those clippers were left by the gardener boy

As his lover beckoned him to take a walk.

Laughing, he set them down, took her hand and followed her

Down the since neglected garden path.

That evening after sunset, a storm brewed in the East.

Chasing the sun down to bed as it advanced.

Lightning struck, thunder pealed, and the river rose.

On that river bed, the lovers lay asleep and then dead.

That house is now believed to be haunted

By friends and family, far and near.

It knows no longer the laughter in cool spring air.

No longer does the gardener boy stroll in the garden with his love.

On this dark night, a storm brewing,

The house wails and creaks in the wind.

For it knows it’s time has come,

For the river will rise.