It is an ancient fearsome beast
That comes to life in a red moon,
And seeks warm blooded prey to feast.
I'd heard of it in tale and tune
Told by my people in low tone,
Of how it spits a venom spray
Paralysing the flesh and bone,
Letting the body sit a day.
Then returning to eat at night,
Burrowing back out of the ground.
I know now that my tribe was right.
I cannot move or make a sound.
The sun is setting through the weed.
Soon it will be coming to feed.
Comments about this poem (Burrower by Ima Ryma )
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