On the Knott

And in some corrugated field, a tower pointed at the clouds.
It dated from a bygone age, the soil around its base now ploughed
And fat with oats. In rough hewn blocks, precariously balanced stairs
Coiled upwards in a tightened spiral, hanging in the empty air,
Whilst arches held the walls above the swaying ocean of the crops,
And in the darkness just beyond came snorting sounds. We bravely stopped,
Convinced that we had seen six eyeballs blinking in the murky dark,
And egging one another on, we peered into the dungeon’s heart,
Where evil moaned in ghostly tones and demons shuffled in the deep,
Then screaming ran, as three brown cows emerged from where they’d been asleep.