A lone wolf on the edge of the cliff, alert and hunting for prey.
He is the coffin, a place of rest for creatures of darkness,
As befits a creature of darkness, he enters his comatose one calls sleep in a coffin.
The monster is a huge cloak, billowing behind someone to capture stray souls.
He is a wearer of fine cloaks which are designed to billow out in darkness and give him an inflated aura.
He is the sort of being that would wear a collar of such proportions as it covers his lower face.
A grumpy great uncle, he croaks and complains,
He fiercely reprimands little children and doesn’t give presents, not even on Christmas or birthdays,
Being a stingy relative who just sucks out the joy from jolly family reunions.
The colour of death describes him,
Blood red-thick and congealed,
He is the colour of a dying rose.
A thorn bush that strangles the beauty out of flowers.
He is a dark and dingy castle where blood lives.
With a vicious bite, he is the German shepherd with a stumpy tail that always wants to attack you.
