The Tale Of The Ancient Rhymester Poem by Thomas Vaughan Jones

I sat in my small corner
reading some poetry
and then I felt a ghostly hand
had taken hold of me.

It was an Ancient Rhymester
who fixed me with his glare.
I could but watch and wonder
Transfixed beneath his stare.

'Who are you, Ancient Rhymester?
Why do you look so pale? '
The Rhymester sighed, a ghastly sigh,
and then began his tale.

'I came to tell my story
In poetry and rhyme,
of how the Muse's glory
has stood the test of time.

The many themes and formats,
the pleasures to be shared
and yet, to my amazement
I found that no-one cared.


I wrote of ancient legends
couched in an ancient tongue,
of all the many facets
that make a poet's song.

I told of all the wonder
that lay in poetry,
and all I found was silence
reflected back to me.'

Thus spoke the Ancient Rhymester,
then floating cross the floor.
with eyes fixed fast upon me
passed through my shuttered door.

When once the spell was lifted
I called to bid him stay.
Alas! His spectral presence
Had drifted far away.

Nothing to mark his visit,
only an icy chill,
and a tiny stain from a tear drop
that marred my window sill.