Of all the old tales
and folklore alike
vampires , werewolves
and ghouls delight
the one which I fear
even to this day
the witch of the north
Windigo is it's name

The natives hold true
the stories they tell
of the forlorn ghoul
floating through the trees
howling out its warning
to those who will heed
to those who don't
their flesh it will eat

This was the tale told to me
by my good friend Yves
tramping around the northern woods
in the fall of'70
Yves was not a man
to scare easily
he laughed and scoffed
at tales of thing he could not see

My blood it did freeze
on that last October eve
when the wind began to howl
on all hallows eve
the sound seemed to come alive
whipping up the leaves
the only one who showed no fear
was my good friend Yves

We had come up north
to survey the scene
checking into stories
of people missing
the guides we brought
we thought were stout
turned out not to be
all but one,cried aloud
and ran into the trees

Young Gaston and Yves
surveyed the scene
howling wind and  screaming
then the wind died
and silence took hold
Oh how they talked so bold
they cursed at the trees
and taunted the leaves

Breaking the silence
was a keening wail
the fury of which
I still can hardly tell
the sound shook my bones
clear to my knees
it looked like it scared
even Gaston and Yves

I thought I saw
a fleeting mist
flowing through the trees
seeping, creeping
with a growl and a yell
the furies of hell
were unleashed around me
swirling about
a vortex of pain
I never seen
Gaston and Yves again

I searched for a sign
early next day
for what had become
of my friends you would say
all that I found
were bits of cloth
and some teeth
all that remained of
Gaston and Yves

Try as I might
the sight will not leave
my hair is now white
as you can plainly see
if you go to the north woods
you better beware
of the dangers and creatures
that do lurk there