The Progeny of Hameltown
written by: Ken Gosse
Another dark and stormy night,
the kind you read about in tales—
the gloomy new moon’s dimmest light
was hidden by the stormclouds’ veils.
The town renown as Hamelin
had changed its name because their fame
was overshadowed by chagrin—
events which cost them all acclaim.
That story, known both far and wide,
became an epithet, the worst,
where mankind’s greed was not denied;
their children, not their purse, disbursed.
The dreadful pain of children lost
would seem relieved with each new birth,
but there would be a dire cost;
forgetting loss in moments’ mirth,
for there was yet another price
that they would pay, though not each year—
another penalty for vice
would unexpectedly appear.
Rare times All Hallow’s Eve would greet
the waning moon when it was new,
the price of greed would be replete;
descendants paying with their rue.
Those last October nights would come
with all their playful rants and rails
but when they passed, the depths they’d plumb
would end with wails of their travails.
November first, those nights, were cursed;
upon its entering each room
all lovers’ joys would be reversed
as every womb became a tomb.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Trying to come up with a new, scary tale for Halloween, my muses reminded me (while I was trying to sleep) of one of my favorite tales, “The Pied Piper of Hamelin.” Three lines came to mind. One of them is the last line of the poem, which gave rise to “the rest of the story.”
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