THE WHISPERER By Duane W. Rimel





The awful whispers came from out nowhere,

In broad daylight to catch me unawares,

They seemed so strange, so very dim,

As if they floated up from ancient lairs.


At first I could not comprehend its songs;

The rhythme were uncouth and much too old

To be a part of mundane life and plan- - -

Nor could I tell precisely what they told.


Sometimes on winless nights my shutters creaked

As though some Things were fumbling with the latch- - -

And when the whispers echoed in my ears,

I bolted out of bed and struck a match.


Always the same- - -no living thing was near,

And though I searched the bedroom high and low,

I could not find the nameless whisperer

Or check that taunting, almost voiceless flow.


Back it comes, with accents now familiar,

Because I know at last from whence it springs,

I am a changeling, and my mate has called

From aery heights where Lloigor wails and sings.


- - -Duane W. Rimel


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