But as he stares amazed, in mirth,
King low'rs his eyes upon the earth,
And smile transforms to gape.
A tremble shakes his face once kind,
Amazed, struck dumb in shock to find,
Sick death has stained this place.
Sick death has stained this place.
A family of field mice fair,
Small birds with open, dreadful stares,
Lie prone on grass of green.
Two deer, both young, with flanks exposed
Once gracing wood like friendly ghosts,
Have joined this death-still scene.
Gross, dripping rivers, red and slick,
Entwine together, running thick,
Upon the forest's floor.
This carnage spilled around the Child,
Soon fills the King with anger wild,
To stand the sight no more.
But all this anger turns to fear,
As Child turns 'round when King draws near,
And bares a gruesome face.
Black eyes, round orbs, of onyx coarse,
Expressionless, without remorse,
King falters in his pace.
Beyond old age, beyond work-tried,
Scabbed wrinkles mar, and scar, and line,
The Child's perverted grin.
Small, rotting teeth, a crumbling score,
Entrench his mouth, a stinking sore,
And drip upon his chin.
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