I know, I know, all you've said,

And yet I've woken in my bed,

A heavy step, a leaden tread,

Has walked the hallway past my head.

I've listened, fearful, all unseen I count,

All doors and windows locked before I mount,

Alarm switched on, security lights too,

What more can a nervous body do?

In time no sound comes to my ears

And sleepiness bestills my fears.

I sleep again to wake at dawn,

Relieved, refreshed, all night fears gone.

But yet I know when full moon shines

And George's black Alsatian whines,

As sure as fate at any time

I'll hear a whistle in the pines.

Who treads the woods so very late?

Who pauses by our squeaking gate?

A shadow six foot six at least -

Is this a visit from a beast?

Or just night whispers....

Denis Pentlow, Bassett, Southampton

Daily Echo poet-in-residence Polly Clark writes: "A sinister poem for the nights drawing in..."