There's Gold At Raven-Forge Barrow Poem by Maurice Rowlands

Whispers in a dark corner
At the ‘Crooked Ale Jug’ Inn
A rumour from a bad girl
Who lives only by sin
A waypoint on a crumpled map
In the form
Of a badly scrawled arrow
Tells him there’s a stash of gold
At Raven-Forge Barrow

He’s a thief from a distant land
Where rogues are bold
The seductive call in his hand
Of the promise of gold
His soul is sold
Temptation has burned
Of the pleasure of treasure
Ignoring the tales
Of those never returned

He sets off down the lane
Onto rocky terrain
Over hillsides and mountains
Where the harshest of rain
Lashes down like fountains
Past long dead ghosts
Worshipping candlelit shrines
And past skeleton dead miners
Trudging towards long lost mines

He sees the prettiest young maiden
He ever did see
Playing softly her lute
Beneath a dead tree
She is singing the sweetest
Yet strangest song
That ever could be
He hesitates and asks
“Are you singing to me? ”

“Oh ye traveller
Sweet traveller
I sing a warning to thee
Ahead leads to riches
That a thief may dream
Foolish traveller
Turn back traveller
For all may not be
As it may seem”

She dissipates into the air
Was she ever really there?
He goes on without care
Through the darkening mist
Into the twisted forest
And then carved in the bark
A moss covered arrow
The way ahead
Is Raven-Forge Barrow

He reaches his destination
With somewhat elation
A skeleton guardian
Gives the slightest of dread
As it’s still clutching the dagger
Stuck deep in its head
Into the halls of the dead
Of Raven-Forge Barrow
He stumbles ahead

Down and down
And down and down
Through altars and crypts
All bones and strange glyphs
Deep down underground
He climbs through the gloom
Fiery torch in hand
To a long forgotten room
A treasure laden land

A dark wraith rises
His greed she despises
He stares silent and grounded
Then his body goes numb
Her eyes deadly and narrow
His scream is unsounded
Just another soul to succumb
To the ancient curse
Of Raven-Forge Barrow