THE DREADFUL THING IN THE SWAMP

Big, dark, dreadful, drear,
With tufts of fur clogging its ears.
Long and sharp its many claws,
And no regard for any laws
Save this:

That it eats what it wants
And stomps where it goes
And snarls whenever it pleases.

It ate the hunter.
It ate the clerk.
It ate the miller’s son.
And soon, quite soon,
If we don’t leave,
It will come to eat us all.

The Astral Wanderer is brought to you by ten-minute writing club prompts in which everyone scrambles to write something that sounds vaguely more rhythmic than ordinary prose. Support the blog by buying my book, or just share this poem with someone who is likely to enjoy it. All proceeds go toward tweezing the hair from monster ears. Really!