The monster crouches upon the chair
Around him tread? No one dares
This stranger reeks of putrid scent
Discarded peels and riper vents
Eyes flare with malicious light
Struck with each glance, another plight
Milk won’t sweeten his dour mien
Nor holy water rinse him clean
Speak to him and he’ll count you friend
But don’t doubt, he’ll make no amends
Seven years, you’ll dance his frightful tune
Until death take you, far too soon
So heed my words, they are your boon:
Grant him entrance and it’ll be your doom.
RED GLADIOLA 