A poem about Borley Rectory, once known as the most haunted house in England.

Your stairs were going nowhere,
your roof open to the sky,
and in a courtyard round the back,
a poltergeist once threw a brick,
and the picture made the evening paper.
Such a lugubrious ruddy face,
sash windows agawp,
a psychic echo chamber bulldozed
after a mysterious fire — before the Luftwaffe
could use up their bombs.
Your spooky rooms a rabbit…