Here is the poem that Mr. Vanderpole read to Isabella and Seth while at dinner, The Yule Cat of the Night.
The Yule Cat of the Night
With fur as blue as midnight;
With eyes beet-red as blood;
And teeth as sharp as needles;
The Yule Cat pawed on the tops of its claws;
To the Empath's old front gate;
Whipping his pole-thick tail;
And preparing his belly's plate;
Smaller than a lion but not much so;
The Yule Cat flared his nostrils;
Opened his ears and asked the light;
Have these parents' done right?
By their young;
On Yuletide's night?
Or have they forgotten to cloak their children
With new vestments bright?
Oh, how selfish humans become, how ugly,
how frozen; inky their hearts crack,
but I know as the fair folk say,
How to cure them of what they lack;
I'll make you a promise empaths, so clear;
To gobble up the children whom you no longer hold dear;
If you prefer, to sink your arms;
one by one into a shiny new coat;
And leave your children shivering as you gloat;
Over your diamonds, cyphers of gold;
Silver and black testoons;
arched into a mountain a-vaulted in your trove;
Unwrap
Only for Sally;
Only for Hubert;
Bertie and Jane;
An old rag doll and a trackless train;
To share,
Then slap, snap, pinch your eyes shut;
Make rot, make rancid, make poison your gut;
Drink your ale, drink your wine;
Clear your mind;
of the lives you've borne bare;
Hand them to me;
I will take your children, into my belly without care,
The Yule Cat sneered,
beet-blood eyes glowing a-glee;
Under the gate, he crawled,
Teeth as sharp as needles, fur deep blue-black as the sea;
To the twenty-fourth house of the Yule of the night;
Where'd he'd free more children from their;
Family's plight, of burden, alack;
For his belly's plate, for his hunger snatched
Then a young man climbed the bridge to their door;
Over the moat, with tidings from a store,
Three black scarves and one blond,
In his satchel he also carried four;
Sweaters of knit, with shoes shiny, patent;
The Yule Cat inched close to moat,
Peaked its midnight ears and hissed a flame
Who was this man, a son or a father in name?
Tucked into his tweed and neck wrapped in crimson wool
"Horace! Horace is here!"
"You're right, Bertie! It is the merchant of Salinas!"
Either Sally or their sister Jane cried.
"Thank you dear family for the
pails and piles of gilded nuggets
added to the spoils I bring your kin!
Beyond these vestments I bring your children,
You have given much more
For the threadbare, for the poor, who have none
and deserve as much if not more
for their labor, for their time to keep the
Yule Cat from their line."
The Yule Cat snarled and his belly ached
For Sally, Hubert, Bertie, and Jane;
Would not adorn his plate
But alas, his knifish teeth sparkled, sharp and ready
For barrels of children remain, more than plenty
With careless sires, sooted with greed and spite
Who let in the Yule Cat of the Night.
YOU ARE READING
The Lost Heir (Book I)- The Violet City
FantasyA holiday fantasy story told in two parts. Book I: An empath teenager discovers a magical world beneath her family hotel and new friends who just might make life worth living again. That is, if the mad man who is twisting her mind in knots, doesn't...