A Poem for the Dark

Ten

The bodies scurry away,

Nine

They think it's a game they're about to play,

Eight

They find a hole in which to hide,

Seven

Quietly, the innocent abide.

Six

The demon-thief will take from them,

Five

The mother's dreams--what might have been,

Four

Their stifled giggles would not emit,

Three

If their stalker's face were lit.

Two

But have a final laugh little
one.

Ready or not, here i come.