A menacing moon, a cold draft in my room,
small wonder why I feel impending doom;
scufflings at midnight from inside my door,
shadows of somethings are crossing the floor.
I'm rigid with fear as to what they might be,
these evil demons are coming for me;
I tighten my grip on a poker I found,
trembling in terror I don't make a sound.
They're edging closer as I back away,
they're looking for dinner and I'm the entree!
I bundle the covers up over my head
and just like a possum, stay small, and play dead.
I peek, and I'm horrified... talons, green eyes!
and slavering jaws to effect my demise,
but I'll go down fighting, I'll give of my best
when Mom tousles my hair, "Hey! it's time to get dressed!"
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe