Worm-Larder Jane

Worm larder Jane

she rose again,

as the earth did peal away.

She shrieks and moans,

through silver bones,

full moon as bright as day.


Her rotted flesh

was born a-fresh,

the bone-house planks now torn.

Feet struck with blight,

this dreaded night,

into the darkness born.


Some careless witch,

foul warts that twitch,

gave the ancient hex a try.

Close study she ought,

but lost in thought,

the spell had gone awry.


In darkness fled,

where none would tread,

the pathway to her lair.

Graves with dark flame,

they’d know to blame

the witch though none would dare.


The hoar-stone set

where boundaries met,

the graves and the fields of rye.

Those times had past,

the centuries vast,

now ruins to meet the sky.


Born into strife,

her villainy rife,

the scabbard fit her snug.

So without a care,

they’d stuck her where,

no grave had ought be dug.


Here lies Jane,

the sad refrain,

set as her epitaph.

Her granite block,

the ancient rock,

too close by a yard ‘n’ a half.


Looked at the plot,

knew they’d forgot,

hadn’t the sense to question why,

the grand old stone,

must stand alone,

her cutlass raised to the sky.


At revelers sound,

she spun around,

those souls would take their leave.

The strangest light,

had met her sight,

for it was All Hollows’ Eve.


She looked confused,

at the cloths they used,

to celebrate the dead.

They welcomed her in,

with sword and grin,

and the tales that she said.


So they’d spent the night,

with drink and fight,

and now they weary slept.

She bid them well,

they’d live to tell,

of Jane and the life she’d kept.


Then as she turned,

the graves still burned,

Jane curious to see,

Though dreaded dead,

none would be freed,

hands reached in desperate plea.


She walked on past,

no mind to ask,

what magic had been done.

With no intent,

to graveside rent,

life’s second chance begun.



Worm-larder, worm-scullery or bone-house: (n), a cheap, poorly made coffin usually with gaps in the woodwork. (Roger Vincent 2010)

Hoar-stone – an old hoary stone, an ancient boundary stone.


(The reason for republishing this is that I have made corrections and added verses to this poem, hope it is OK?)


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