Hooded Chair

Once crafted by a French, It was imbued with a curse, On a equinox midnight, Agent of Death on its way came to rest, upon the 13th hooded chair it sat, and left some of its magic when it left, Abrupt when the owner stole a glance, He mistook the figure for a burglar, And went swiftly to the chair to inspect, Finding nothing to be damaged he test, by sitting on that cursed hooded chair, Deadly silent was filling in the air, His mood changed dramatically, A sense of foreboding doom across his face! He knew his time on earth was up, Just before he left the hooded chair alone, He placed his tools upon its seat pad, That was a Mark of one resigned, Never to ply his craft again. A note he left to his loving wife written, LET NOONE SIT ON THIS DAMM CHAIR! For i have seen death rest and placed his hand! No mortal will live a fortnight, Should his body lay upon it to relax, He died the following week, A crate of snakes fell beside him, The cause of his death was poison from snake bite. His widow left everything behind, Soon another tragic tale would began. to be continued. . . Poet Destroyer A Contest any poem goes