Tap-Tap-Tapping Poem by David Lewis Paget

We were sitting, reminiscing
Of the civil war in Spain,
Where my uncle fought for Franco,
Never saw his home again.
There was Joe, and little Jilly
Adam Sparks and Willie Toole,
When the clock, in striking midnight
Seemed to say: ‘I've come for you! '

I sat up, and watched the others
Had they heard that whispered tone?
Jilly spoke about her brothers,
Adam smoked his pipe alone.
They were musing, Willie snoozing,
When the oaken door had creaked,
Whispered gently, from the tavern.
‘You'll be dead within the week! '

We were sitting, in the parlour
Of the Coach and Horses Inn,
Wiped my forehead, tweaked my collar,
Tighter now than it had been.
‘Are you ready, for a snifter? '
Joe had grinned and looked at me,
He had always been a drifter,
Nothing like I thought he'd be.

Willie woke and sipped his sherry,
Rubbed his eyes and looked at Jill,
‘What d'you think, is Adam ready? '
‘Not just yet, dear, you be still! '
Right outside the sign was swaying,
Creaking on its leather bands,
Suddenly I heard it saying:
‘You have blood upon your hands! '

Adam said, ‘I've seen you somewhere! '
Looked at Joe with pensive eye,
‘From the bench, sometime last Summer…'
Joe had loosened off his tie.
I cleared my throat to ease the tension,
‘Think it's going to rain tonight? '
‘By the way, forgot to mention…'
Adam said, ‘Some thing's not right! '

Out beyond the wind was rising,
Lightning flashing from afar,
I could see a shadow moving,
Near the door, out in the bar.
Just about to pour the sherry
Suddenly the lights went down,
I could see the empty chair he'd
Sat in, drifter Joe had gone.

‘Funny chap, ' said Adam Sparks,
The magistrate from Wattle Hill,
‘Sleeps out rough in sheds and parks,
He told me, ' said the barmaid Jill.
‘Not too good out there tonight, '
I said, ‘It's pelting down with rain! '
Then I heard the tap-tap-tapping,
Tapping at the window pane!

I stood up and walked across
To check the window, nothing there.
‘Can't you hear that tapping sound, '
I said, but they just sat and stared.
‘Surely you can hear that tapping,
Tapping at the window pane…'
‘It's only your imagination,
Just a figment in your brain.'

They all retired and I went home
The Coach and Horses burned that night,
And they all died, a lightning strike
Had set the whole damn place alight,
And Joe was frizzled in some field
Beneath a giant fallen oak,
We'd only met the once, but we'd
Decided, ‘You can't trust the bloke! '

I sit here pensive, writing this
Tomorrow it's a week, it stands,
Since whispers in the Coach and Horses
Said that blood was on my hands.
I'll not confess my sin to you,
It's cost too much, a life in pain,
But there I hear it, tap-tap-tapping,
Tapping at my window pane.