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I crept in the darkand gloomy grave yard like a ghost.
I thought to myself it was darker then a mine shaft.
My heart was beating like a drum.
The tree stood a wicked wrinkled old lady,
The branches where scratching on the wall as if it were a boy scratching on the black board.
The wind was blowing the leaves as if someone was kicking them.
An owl perched on a branch with a knowing look of a school teacher.
The moon crept from behind the cloud as if someone had turned the light on.
Now everything looked real again.
The relief washed over me like a ocean wave.