RUNAWAY JOHN John, the willful skeleton,escaped from his tomb and away did run.       Clatter-rattle, chatter-rattle,       click, clack, click—he ran until his joints felt sick. He wobbled along as the moon rolled downlike an apple of snow beyond the town.       Clack-click, rattle-clatter,       CRASH! John fellagainst the wall of a dried-up well and scattered into the grass. Then dayfilled the wood in its whispery way:       dew-hush, lark-twitter,       shadowy boughs;a wind poured over the bony brow, and out from the skull a low sound came—a note as hollow as poor John’s name.       Hoot-sound, flute-sound,       drifting the breeze,reached only flowers, stones and trees.Read More