Three days of walking, almost at an end;
one final mountain pass through which to wend.
A thousand steps until I reached the top,
to climb the long-awaited rock outcrop.
As up through Nellie's Glen I made my way,
I had no clue of perils which did lay
ahead of me; no knowledge had I gleaned
concerning the sanguisugent foul fiend
that lay in wait, my journey to disrupt,
nor of the mayhem that would soon erupt.
He'd set his sights upon my juicy vein,
his bloodthirsty intent was oh-so plain.
For centuries his kind on blood have fed,
and filled the souls of some with fear and dread;
yet, of such monsters, I was never scared—
just let the beast attack me, if he dared.
When of my fluids he had drunk his fill,
inside my chest, my heart was beating still.
He'd quenched his thirst, and silently moved on—
in truth, I was relieved to see him gone.
And legend has it he still haunts the Glen,
evoking terror in the hearts of men;
but if you see him, please don't scream or screech—
no harm can really come from one small leech.
|
Author Notes
Today's word: sanguisugent (adj.) blood-sucking.
My much-treasured Christmas present for 2017 is a book by Paul Anthony Jones: "The cabinet of linguistic curiosities". Each page contains a descriptive story about some obscure or archaic word. It occurred to me it would be a fun exercise to try and write, each day, a poem featuring the "word of the day" from the book.
Thanks for reading.
|
|
