The Creature Poem by George Howard

Tis past midnight, the house is still,
The cat will stalk, the owl will kill,
Stars dance, the moon hides behind clouds,
As the silver light fades, and darkness shrouds,
Something menacing stirs in the house,
It isn't a rat it isn't a mouse,
The black shape moves, with speed, not grace,
A menacing form, death on its face.
Spotting its prey, which struggles in vain,
Its piteous attempts, entrapped to remain.
The creature of death knows what will await,
The devil wants his due, the captor pays his rate,
The dark form moves in, like the spectral rider,
No escape at all! From the formidable spider!