The Haunted Abbey

The eternal hosts
are upon the stone,
where creeping shadows
haunt lonely bones.

The Autumn mists
drift grey and white,
cloaking the wind that mourns
in grief through the night.

And in the hawthorn 
tree upon high,
the pale faced rooks
curse the black sky.

Where in the broken tower
the hooded jackdaw bishop´s eye,
observes the phantom owl
in the sky.