Poems

In a distant land, in a far off time,
In a city of moss and stone,
In a tall, tall tower of crumbling rock,
Lived a hermit all alone.

From a high window in his tall, tall tower
He watched the world go by,
And he watched the stars, and he watched the sun,
As it paced across the sky.

Oh, he drank of the rain, and he ate of the moss,
And he smoked of the ivy leaf,
And he sang how he'd rather live up in his tower,
Than down with those beneath.

And he sang pretty long, and he sang pretty loud,
But he sang so terribly sweet,
Oh, he sang of the beauteous sky up above,
And the joys of his life complete.

At the foot of the tower, a crowd would gather,
To hear of his wondrous song,
And as time went by, their number grew,
Till it reached an innumerable throng.

And the people, they wished as they heard of his words,
That they could live so close to the sky,
But there were too many folk, and too little stone,
To build so many towers so high.

So the people they left the tall, tall tower,
And returned to their homes so squat,
And they tried to be happy with such as they had,
And forget about what they had not.

But alas for the hermit, his song was so loud,
That all city could hear of the sound,
So the people went back to the tall, tall tower
And they knocked every block to the ground!

Moral
People who live in tall, tall towers
shouldn't let on if they're having a great time!

There's a thing living under my bed,
That nobody else seems to see,
It's got eyes that are luminous red,
And they're always staring at me.

Its hands are all hairy and clawed,
With knuckles all bony and white,
Not hands that are easily ignored,
When they grope, for your face, in the night.

When it knows that my parents are sleeping,
When it knows that there's no one awake,
I can hear the sound of it creeping,
And slithering out like a snake.

I push up the bedclothes, crawl under the sheet,
Trying desperately hard to seem small,
I bring down my head and I pull up my feet,
And curl up in a quivering ball.

It gets to its feet and leans over my bed,
And then rips the sheets onto the floor,
My heart skips a beat and I wish I was dead,
And I wish I could run out the door.

It looms over my head, and breathes in my face,
And tickles my neck with its tongue,
My hair stands on end, and my pulse starts to race,
Its breath smells as rotten as dung.

It pulls at my hair, and it spits in my ear,
And scratches the end of my nose,
It prods at my back, and it pinches my rear,
And it flicks at the tips of my toes.

There's only one thing that will scare it away,
There's only one thing you can do,
You must sit up in bed, and then straight away,
Scream out a deafening "BOO!"