#folklorepoem

He’s nearly as tall as a Shire His eyes are like saucers of fire He brings you bad luck Some call him Old Shuck Some call him the Beast of the Mire He’s long and impressive of limb When daylight is starting to dim He lopes through the trees And snaps at your knees That horrible, hideous Grim And when he goes stomping around His paws make a terrible sound Like thunder and rain And a rusty old chain That dreadfully ominous hound If ever you see him appear You have every reason to fear Whoever espies His burning red eyes Expires inside of a year!