Trudging in woodlands of dark heavy mist,
I espied a figure in the verdurous midst.
A hunched and crouching squalid lump,
Perching naked on a withered stump.
A pitiful, emaciated little creature,
With such hideous and ghastly features.
Spindly limbs so thin and frail,
Sallow skin cadaverously pale.
Wholly coated in soot and in grime,
Emanating a puddle of sickening slime.
Yet the frightening source of horrid dread,
Is the single globular eye upon his head.
A bloodshot marble red with spite,
Lighting up the moonless night.
He gazed upon my nearby presence,
As I keenly stared at his putrescence.
Misfortune’s woeful portent,
A servant of sin and of torment.
And as if leering at my vile reflection,
I knew we are evil’s malign resurrection.