The ol' tree on the hill
Is a freeky place to be.
It creeks with no wind
And you hear the rustle of its leaves.
Yet, it has none you can see.
At night around dusk
Screeching sounds fill the air.
The town below the hill
Believe the tree is haunted.
So they have forbade all
To climb the hill they call, Dread.
The people who disobey
Are never ever seen.
The legend says if you see the ghost
It will never let you leave.
written by Evelyn Creon
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