The Mists o’ 1736

When I was a lad
a bit younger than you
I was told of a tale
and was sure it was true

Kinfolk we’d lost
when they’d wander’d upon
Ol’ Baleman’s Swamp
Injuns, too, and others anon

When night was settled
and the Mists rose up
Their evil vapors
would a virgin corrupt

And lead astray
the traveler weary’d
by lantern’d light
that by spook appear’d

A glow that seem’d
to rise and to fall
as a man out walking
in the midst of it all

Will o’the Wisps
my elders had named them
they fed off y’r suffering
if you happen’d upon them

Moved off the road
the hapless victim stuck
in the fetid swamp
foot caught thick in muck

A scream for help
and the Wisps would glow
as the victim struggled
the Wisps would grow

Slowly, agonizingly
the victim would sink
unable to take breath
but still able to think

Emotions pour forth
as the victim drown’d
the Wisps feed and feed
until y’r sunk deep underground

The Wisps not yet satisfy’d
would float quietly away
waiting for another soul
lost and gone astray

I follow’d the lanterns
I, too, wander’d into the bog
and when my foot slip’d in
I pray’d desperately to God

The Will o’ Wisps surround’d me
They grew and glow’d and fed
and as I sunk in deeper
my fear turn’d to dread

But when daylight broke
and when all was done
I was no longer a man
my flesh, my bones all gone

Instead, young lad
a Will o’the Wisp I became
and, as you’re my next meal,
you, too, soon will be the same

Jonathan Russell