The Valley

Whispering on the winds like a wicked whistle,

Razer sharp like the Reaper’s own sickle,

Tormenting the passerby on the highway below,

The journeymen filled with homesickness and sorrow.

Down where the valley dips deep into the night,

Deep in the hidden crevices full of monsters of fright.

Therein lies the hungriest of beasts, the monstrous Kro,

The earth-shaking and cracking with each footstep,

Ragdolled-humans tossed to and fro.

Beware, beware the darkest of nights in the Valley of Death,

Unless the claws and teeth of the beast rip into your flesh.

Never a man survived the piercing red stare, never a man

Could lift his sword or spear.

For Kro’s look alone sent the bravest soldiers shaking,

Cowering in their despair with their hearts all pounding.

Intense is the stench of this foul and hideous beast,

And frighteningly grotesque are his dark and yellowed teeth.

Blood of victims long past still lingers in his lair,

Adding to the unfortunate’s soul dread and despair,

Oh beware, beware the Valley of Death, ‘fore terrifying Kro

Lays you to rest.

How could I know this? You may skeptically ask,

How can I recount the tale of evil and vile Kro?

Because I alone survived the foul demon’s nest,

And am cursed to give my warning and tales of woe.

Cursed with the image of the beast in my sleep,

And still feeling the hopelessness in his torturous keep.

So beware the whispering and whistling of the Valley of Death,

‘Fore you meet your untimely fate, and draw your last breath.