The Phantom

From high above the canopy

The signature is clear.

The Phantom makes his presence known

And strikes a chord of fear.

That haunting scream before the storm

Is not a simple chide

And shadows on the ground below

Must scurry quick to hide.

The air is tarnished, thick and gray,

The foliage charred and brown,

But tunnels offer refuge and

The foe cannot be found.

The predawn hours bring a mist

Upon the jungle floor

And soon the black pajama'd ghosts

Will stalk their prey once more.

So high above the canopy

The Phantom lurks again,

And just to add a special touch,

Today he's brought a friend.

They circle in and out of clouds

And watch the jungle floor,

Just hoping that those tunnel ghosts

Will show themselves once more.

Then suddenly the Phantoms dive

Directly towards the ground

Unleashing fury from their wings

With deafening resound.

The air ignites in thermal rage.
There is no place to run.

And for these black pajama'd ghosts;

Life here on Earth is done.

But sunrise brings another day

Upon the jungle floor,

And finds the Phantom lifting off

To hunt his prey once more.

Howard Garrison Yates

July 17, 2000

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The Phantom

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