Naughty children of the world beware,
If you hear the silver bells and clanking chains.
Ignore the whipping of birch cracking in the air,
Avoid the gaze through the window panes.
From Alpine lands I hear the tales,
The stories of cloven hooves and a lolling tongue.
With a hessian sack of children's wails,
The distant screams of the wicked young.
Saint Nick rewards those who are nice,
Guess who deals with those on the other list.
Stalking through the dark December ice,
Children run until it's claws are on their wrist.
Dear child, think on evil that you do,
For The Krampus is a voracious beast.
An ancient hunger from indifference grew,
And is coming to your darkest winter feast.
YOU ARE READING
Soft Curses of Angels - Volume 4 - Wish for The Wicked
PoetryAm I a boy imitating a man or a man still thinking he is a boy? I may never know. Welcome to the latest edition to my chronological anthology of bad poetry. Estimated age at time of writing 29-Present I both thank and apologise to any soul who tak...
