For Rick

Where the wraiths in despondency howl
And ill waters run foul
The kingdom of poison shrines
With the mad shadow shines.

Lying ruined and alone
Where stray tears are the throne
And each candle merely can throw
Faintness on the specters of woe

In their garb stained foul and red
Their crowns by sorrow tenanted
Drifting sepulchral where crawls
The ivy of long-fallen walls

And stone sentinels yet stare
O'er the ill things lying there:
Frozen in flight from ages of yore,
Clawing yet at the high iron door

Only the clock yet lives
But at every hour it gives
No token that a moment has gone
And no hint of dusk or dawn

Graces the stone that lies
Below Plutonian skies
That circle eternally round:
A storm without shock or sound.

And may the terror of that sight
Hold thee and thine this night,
Mayst thou waken in silent dread
From dreams of that kingdom lone and dead.