By: PaysConteur~

 Fascination lies still in this hollow,
 where the wind whispers of another time.
 Voiceless and obscured, death seems to follow,
 dooming life, remembering its ghostly chime.
 A monstrous thing unrequited love.
 Upon all the old endless paths we tread,
 there’s something about the dark moon above,
 which brings out the fear of the living dead.
 The mood of enchantment is changed by time,
 when one’s sorrow becomes someone’s delight.
 A true life story becomes fabled rhyme,
 when a child’s cry pierces the moonlit night.
 Devils Kitchen is more than a story.
 It lies in my heart and in my soul today,
 and love echoes there in natures glory
 still answering life in a simple way.
 The Kitchen legend began long ago,
 when a young farmer started farming there.
 nestled in the small lush valley below;
 his wife and child now the heart of his prayer
 They worked every day always together
 loving a child whose smile had a dimple.
 For them, life couldn’t get, any better;
 to them it was beautifully simple.
 Till a fateful day in late October.
 A day upon which they had work to do,
 but the skies turned ashen and sober,
 and with the work, it took both, it took two.
 Leaving the child in the house while in the field;
 they didn’t see the fire, they didn’t see the flame.
 So on this day legend and fate were sealed,
 when love went unanswered and took the blame.
 The house and child were consumed by desire.
 Unknowingly love had a tragic end.
 Neighbors stop them from entering the fire
 assuring them a young soul will ascend.
 The child who cried, died only wanting love.
 Hope disappears when one’s love is gone.
 The farmstead cumbled with vanishing love,
 and the Kitchen legend began thereon.
 They came together now to say goodbye.
 Their friends and neighbors wanted them to stay,
 but the pain of lost, kept them, asking why
 and Devils Kitchen, cries with it, today.
 For deep in this small hollow late at night.
 an infant despairingly innocent cry,
 echoes still, consuming the fire of light,
 whose energy and whose hopes will not die,
 A triumph, but yet , pity for the heart.
 Life’s wisdom guides the power of it’s art,
 and all things eternal must never part
 beyond the tenderness of the human heart.