Later the latish night
Afore the early dawn
Shimmered the pallid moonlight
Whilst his terrible fate was drawn.
Shivered he in his most ferocious fright
Divulging from its grave, 'it' was born
Dimmed was his weary sight
On another blink it was gone
Whilst he was struck in his plight
It's eyes, on his, held it's gaze upon.
Unfeasible it was, to cease that wight
Unable he was, to stand such brawn
Enough it was to spite, this misery, he had to wear upon
Incapable he was, to match it's demented might
Killed he was, killed, living within his own mourn.