Happy Birthday 39

Late at night, when folk are sleeping,
And the crescent moon is weeping,
Comes a ghastly figure creeping,
O’er the scarred and barren ground,
O’er the landscape damned and blighted,
With a purpose unrequited,
By the hand of Fate indited,
Crawls this shape with dismal sound.
Banished from pure thoughts and slighted,
Where the shadow’d wastes are found.

With one mad eye glaring solely,
Comes this apparition slowly,
Moaning in a voice unholy,
As it grapples ever near.
Climbing over gates and fences,
Overcoming all defences,
Pausing now and then, it senses
That it’s prey will soon appear.
Howling madly, it commences
To instill such abject fear.

Panting breath, so harshly rasping,
Footholds ‘pon the dank earth clasping,
Bony fingers, reaching, grasping
Any object in its way.
Onward, onward, it comes crawling,
With a vista most appalling,
Never staying, never stalling,
Closing in upon its prey.
Sometimes climbing, sometimes falling,
Unseen by the light of day.

In her bed, her senses heightened,
Stomach muscles twitching, tightened,
Brenda lies awake and frightened,
Knowing it will soon be there.
What she has avoided broaching,
‘Pon her mind is now encroaching,
For her youth it will come poaching,
As she is too well aware.
Forty years with stealth approaching,
Hidden from the day’s harsh glare.