When the pipes of pan sing
Echoing through the darkening.
Spellbinding dirge of night...
Luring into the moonlight.
He plays his flute
They follow without dispute.
Pan abducts the lost children
Under night's flowing apron.
Leads them to the moor
Makes them young forevermore.
For he is damned to the night
Flying in the moonlight.
Hunting souls; lost in despair.
Haunting the night air.
Collecting companions just as lost
As his heart of frost.
Never growing decrepit and old,
Forever young and ice cold.
Youthful antics forevermore
In the shadows of Nevermoor.
© Jerry Langdon 2016
