In a ghost cave within a black mountain,
nothing remains for long, save a sad howl,
as wolves long departed this area,
given how the wind blows across a pole,
how else to explain this doleful, loud cry,
on Black Mountain, no animals reside,
still the sound comes directly from the cave,
two men ascended never to return,
climbers found the bodies before the mouth,
anguished expressions across their faces,
vacant stares into the darkness within,
every child in the valley knows these men,
widows wept at the loss of their husbands,
inside the cave, the climbers found a boy,
thought dead for centuries, they brought him down,
how he survived for so long, no one knows,
if he could speak perhaps he could explain,
no one knows how he got inside the cave,
angry mobs in the valley wanted blood,
burn the boy against a stake for witchcraft,
little did the climbers know what to do
as their own lives were in danger, two men
climbed the onyx face, teachers of the land,
killed by a boy within a cave whose howl
makes blood-curdling cries of warriors sound
ordinary, common, quotidian,
understanding the needs of the people,
no one could stop their terrible vengeance,
tied to the stake, the boy wept and he howled,
as the noise swept over the crowd, they fell
in unison onto their knees in prayer,
no one knows why the boy was made a saint.
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