Last night a monster, so you said,
was creeping 'round beneath your bed.
A little hungry, not quite tame,
you're sure you heard him call your name.
You stayed with me till he was fed.
Then a sad song from a bird
brought to mind a tune you heard
when you were only two or three,
So you screamed and ran to me.
We sang a song with happy words.
You're far more careful than are most
with sad music, banshees, ghosts.
For your caution who can blame you
when story witches often claim to
wurn good girls to ginger toast?
No one who has turned his back
by a goblin was attacked
(Except your sister jumps on me.
She's a goblin, probably,
but that's not a proven fact).
Pathless forests you must trod.
Ignore the ghoulish and the odd.
Knowing you're defensible
by love, and being sensible,
Just leave the rest to God.
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