Time had passed and the tales of Jack
Had become distant memories
Was he real or just fiction ?
No one was sure anymore
Until one cold December night
When ice was on the ground
A sighting of Jack
Came whispers abound
Old Fred was out hunting for game
with his dog
When he swears on his late mothers grave
That he saw Jack appear amongst the dense trees
No sound at all did he make
Dishevelled and aged Jack stared right at Fred
Who was shaking in fear at the thought
That the look in Jacks eyes, were a thing of the dead
Fred thinking he was seeing a ghost
Fred turned on his tail with his dog at his heel
Ran back to his cabin in fear
Bolted his door with both latches and key
Hoping Jack wasn’t anywhere near
The villagers they say that,
Fred tells no lies
And that the sighting of Jack
Was surely seen by his eyes
So in groups they amassed and took torches and flames
To hunt for poor Jack
Who had been missing for years
They arrived at the place where Fred had once stood
But alas, no sign of Jack
The space was eerily quiet, empty, untouched
A small cry from an elder
‘Over here look at this..’
The item was small but a clue none the less
‘It belongs to Jack, it truly is his!’