Haworth

Nestled deep int' Pennine Moors
Where Heights Wuthered
West Riding of White rose
Jealously guarded by rooks and crows

Enshrouded between swales and hollows
Look o'er shoulder something follows
Ghosts and ghouls behind you brood
Apothecary intake stifles thy mood

In harshest of severe winters
When river banks burst to gloom
Three Hardy sisters named Brontë
Hatched their nom de plumes

Currer,Acton and Ellis Bell
Formed as water levels did swell
Women writers surprise 1800's populace
With dashings of feminine grace

In death their fame more grew
Life taken too early more true  
Borne from life of drear
Fame and fortune found no panacea

Now their spirits prowl in adversity
Cats and dogs sense extra sensory
Shadowy graveyards protected by rooks  
Beautiful Haworth, A village of spooks

thank you