In the valley of Straight Creek,
(As it winds its way along)
Is a tin and wooden hut,
That is famed in verse and song.
Now Grey Mare Hut has splendid views,
Superior to most,
But its main fame comes form the fact
It’s haunted by a ghost.
Just up the hill’s a gold mine,
Where this story first began,
Here two men used to dig the ore,
To cradle sift and pan.
But greed defeated mateship,
In the story I was told,
One caved the mine in on his mate,
And took of with the gold.
A murdered sole can’t rest in peace,
Until it makes amends,
And so the ghostly miner rose,
To haunt his former friend.
You may be in the area,
As it’s approaching night,
Don’t chose stay at Grey Mare Hut,
You’ll surely die of fright.
On stormy nights you’ll hear the ghost,
Above the wind and rain,
His voice moans in the chimney,
As he taps the window pane.
If you still ignore my warning,
Then I tell you to beware,
At the banging of the wood shed door,
And footsteps on the stair.
And when the knock comes on the door,
You need not ask “Who is it?”,
You know that it’s the Grey Mare Ghost,
About to pay a visit.
© copyright A Jack 1985