Elvira Poem by James Walter Orr

Does yet the wild creature of low, savage croon,
Roam the halls of the Round Table Inn?
Does the child who was born in the dark of the moon
Wear the cloth that the dark demons spin?

When dark images roam through the corridors long,
And strange noises, the traveler assail,
Does the rattle of chains and the hiss of the thong
Make the bravest of travelers quail?

When the quavering moan of some soul in torment
Makes the drinkers creep in from the halls,
While the tormented shadows, all twisted and bent,
Dance like devils on moss-covered walls,

We should each fill our glass, as the bats take to flight,
And raise each glass high, in a toast,
To the name of Elvira, the queen of the night,
As she comes on the arm of a ghost.