(Getting louder)

See I saw the feller humming,
he was coming, he was coming, through the wood,
like a bandit in a hood
and it wasn’t looking good, no way,
so I started in to pray
but my wits had gone astray (wouldn’t yours?),
big paws full of claws
and enormous jaws, full of teeth,
white teeth, sharp teeth,
he was furry underneath, and his breath,
hot breath, foul breath,
made you think of sudden death, with the smell
of a shuttered room in hell;
so I knew full well I was done
and it isn’t any fun
when you’re out without a gun, if things
with teeth and wings
(did I say about the wings?) like these,
come thrumming through the trees
till you’re weak about the knees, with their hum,
with their drum, drum, drum,
and their fi-fo-fum, in the wood,
where it isn’t looking good,
no way …
no way …
no way …
no way …

John Whitworth

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