Burrower Poem by Ima Ryma

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.