There's this place called Windmill Pit, Not far from my old home, Where the ghost of a poor blind woman Was once believed to roam.
Teacher told how 'Bloody Mary' Ordered her burned until dead Because that Protestant heretic Had refused to drink wine or eat bread. So whenever we neared that dread spot, We followed our special rule - 'Run by the place very fast While humming a hymn from school.
Nothing amiss ever happened... In my teens I felt quite a fool, So I'd mumble some words of appeasement - And ignore the rest of our rule. In my twenties, two friends, unbidden, Mentioned the old site to me, Saying how much it unnerved them, That the place was,"way-out eerie!" Growing older and more level-headed I seldom went near Windmill Pit But hoped that our Protestant martyr, Joan Waste Had been able to rest in peace. Then a fine modern church was built near the site - Splendid St. Joseph's RC. A plaque was put up in a nearby street To commemorate Joan's memory. All seemed well for a while. But bad things happened again - A poltergeist plagued a young couple. A hillside collapsed in the rain. One can't put the blame on Joan's death; Windmill Pit was used for Trials by Ordeal Aeons before she had lived.
Is some ancient hate which plagues
That sad land Howling to be free?