spooked by a Hoot
As a child at night, tucked up into bed
counting sheep would never work for me
counting only up to three
then drifting from my head
An imagination Big enough
self-sabotaging dread
a shadowed figurine
with glowing eyes instead
whistling gusts of wind
the creepy creaking shed
What if something hungry lurked outside
looking to be fed
its favourite snack was little girls, with ringlet curls
who wore Pjs colour red
scared but curious, I tiptoed across and carefully I tread
perching by my window
oddly sitting on the ledge
was a creature looking back
tilting slow its head
A frightening hoot so loud
was why I spun around, and to my parent's room
whizzingly I fled
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