As you read the poem, do you know the secret identity of the monster?
At the top of the stairs stands a monster
At the top of the stairs stands a monster
A towering, monsterous fiend.
Its eyes glow with malice and menace
Its hair lies unkempt and unclean.
The foul smelling scent of old undies
Wafts pungent and stale down the stairs
A gnarly old grin shows off sickening teeth
So be sharp, don’t get caught unawares!
Those two swarthy arms hold a basket
Filled with the evilest stinks
And up from that pit drifts a terrible stench
Which, believe me’s far worse than you think!
The beastie rears up on its hind legs
Resting on pink hairy pads
Each of its claws, counting twenty in all,
Are disgustingly clipped and unclad.
Gulping, in sight of the monster
I’m doomed for, it’s safe to assume,
The beastie breathes in and, with terrible force, cries out
‘Thomas! Go tidy your room!’
---------------------------------------------------------------
weird is just your own personal brand of normal
No comments:
Post a Comment