Down In The Yard

Down in the yard, there is a spot on the ground,
a patch of earth that looks sick and bare,
where not even bindi-eyes can be found;
even the old dog won’t lie down there.

It is said there is something buried under the soil,
something they say is evil, old and gory.
They also say only a fool would toil
to find if there were truth to the story.

So I took to the dirt with a song in my heart
and with a mattock and shovel in hand.
I knew I couldn’t stop once I made a start;
I had to find out what was under my land.

The compressed dirt was hard as cement
But I threw myself at it with determined vigour.
As I dug the day came and went
and the hole only got deeper and bigger.

The mound I created grew higher and higher
and as I dug down I felt a strange disconnection.
The rush of thoughts I had began to expire
while I kept at my laborious intention.

The hole was so deep I couldn’t shovel the dirt
then suddenly, the mattock broke through.
I hunkered down, wiped my face with my shirt
and as I watched, the hole widened and grew.

A feeling came over like a sudden fright
and I shivered despite being hot and dry.
A voice filled with unearthly delight
repeated the surprise I couldn’t help but cry.

I frantically dug at the mysterious hole,
using my hands to throw soil far and wide.
I felt something blast through to my soul;
the coward in me wanted to run and hide.

I heard the old dog baying at the moon above;
the sound was bedevilled and forlorn.
I slipped in the hole like a finger in a glove;
I wondered if I’d ever see the dawn

I fell for what felt like the merest of seconds
and landed in something cold, wet and rank.
It was then I was realised the voice I heard
was my own echoing around an old septic tank.

So let this serve as a lesson to you all;
don’t let superstitions get the better of you.
Cause if you keep digging, you just might fall
and end up in an age-old shit stew.