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A Poem

A poem found in one of the journals of Harris A. Clergue,
youngest son of the late Harriet and Patrick Clergue.

Axendough, a legend of old

A monster unspeakable from a realm untold

(Listen to my warning, and let the story unfold!)

As the legend shall go:

His heart was black,

Cold, cruel, and callous.

He wore tattered robes which hung slack

From his frame, a body deserving the gallows.

As tall as a tower,

Endowed with hideous strengths,

In short: a monster.

To what lengths

Would he go to avenge himself?

I pray that we never know,

Nay, not even myself!

With claws like knives,

The shadow in the dark

Preys upon children, men, and wives

Without leaving trace nor mark.

The spell caster casts out his curses

With neither thought nor impunity.

He has been relegated to the tales told

To children by their nurses

But fear him still, yes, for he is here

For eternity.

Who may stop him?

All is futility.

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