Full moon rises over the wheat fields

A murky night, shredded clouds drift across the blackness

The old tower waits, a solitary black shape looming over the grain

No other buildings stand near

Who built it? and for what purpose?

No one knows

It lies abandoned, bats roosting in the steeple

Rats scurrying across the floor

But every so often

If you are out late

You will see a lone figure

Crossing the wheat fields

To the old tower

Going in, coming out

No one knows what they do there

No one wants to know.