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.