The Lion's Book: A Poetry Collection

The Beastie

I’ve heard of a tale

From long, long ago

That tells of a beastie

With fur white as snow.

I’ve heard of his teeth-

As sharp as a knife-

That’d cut through a boulder

Without any strife.

I’ve heard he breathes fire-

The hottest blue flame-

So wild and rowdy

And never near tame.

I’ve heard of his eyes-

A crystalline red-

Used to discover

What sleeps on the bed.

I’m hearing a growl-

A lowly, deep grr.

I’m seeing a flash of

White, fuzzy fur.

I’m seeing some teeth-

They look razor sharp-

Emerging from under

my satin blue tarp.

I’m seeing the eyes-

Most certainly red-

And now a blue flame-

Whoops, I’m dead.