Blankets of shadows,
Lined with dark red,
Pockets of air flows,
The breath of undead.
Sharp fangs of yellow,
Tough scales of black,
A dark, quiet fellow,
Who won't ever attack.
Awaiting such a being,
A child lies in his bed,
Believes what he's seeing,
No matter what his ma said.
With a fearful stare,
The boy states in hush,
"Please tell me, who's there?"
And grips his mammal plush.
The walls creak in a moan,
The child turns on the light,
His fear leaves with what's shown,
His room is all that's in sight.
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