composed @ 2330 hours, Saturday 6 December 2003

Pulling her cloak about her,
A face, innocence itself
She draws us in by torchlight
(shone upwards across her smiling face)
And imparts her stories of royalty and
city folk; Of bloodshed and murder.
Of Burk and Hare. Of James I.
The student who got bored one evening
And smashed down the door to
the Underworld; The wicca coven within.
Torch off. Darkness never diminished.
Her voice. In lilting American draws us
Closer. The most haunted vault in all of Scotland.
Now.
The tour is ended — by long passages,
and twisting stair we return to
Overground.