Tiptoeing softly, the night whispers low, Beneath the bed, our cold fears grow. Crocodiles slumber, unseen in the void, Lurking in shadows, without making a noise. Their invisible doors are hidden in walls, They listen for footsteps, the faintest of calls. A creak or a breath and they swiftly retreat, Leaving no trace, no glimpse you could meet. So beware of the gap that lies under the bed, Where teeth lie in wait, eager to be fed. Toes are their treasure, a midnight feast, But only if woken, disturbed from their peace. The bed is a fortress, a safety retreat, Where dreams are the armor and pillows a fleet, Keeping at bay creatures who hunger for toes. Where they go in the day, nobody knows. Yet still, in the dark, with covers drawn tight, The crocodiles wait in the depths of the night. Silent and patient, with a hunger so deep, Till morning returns, they will hope for your feet. Dedicated to my cats and collective childhood phenomena.
A blog of verse and rhyme on the observations of man.