Poezja

An orange-red sickle moon hangs low
above the light speckled darkened land
while all of the neighbourhood is asleep
and thoughts do into my mind creep
when I hear great paws walking outside on the sand
and in my heart a speck of fear does grow
 
as if something unknown wants to from the darkness reach
and everything outside is not how it does appear
when there is a rattling at the pane and a violent scratch
and in the blue-white glow of a lighted match
an unknown black predatory form draws near
while far away the waves roll in and out on the beach.