Upon the virgin birth’s eve, all over inside,
None dare break the silence, the least would abide;
The laundry to dry by the fire set forth
A portal’s emergence from magnetic north.
The offspring were huddled in fear for their lives,
As oft presaged beings emerged from their hives;
The lady had her snot rag, so I kept my space,
For the winter’s disease spreads best face to face.
Then somewhere outside there occurred quite a banging,
I leapt to the window to find my spawn hanging!
Quick under the bed, like a coward I hid
Mourning in shadow, the young life they undid.
Outside, the blood flowed to the fresh whitened earth,
Rousing the golem into drunkenly mirth;
Then, down from Lodestar fell a demon-like howl
From a sky faring luge with a bow like a trowel.
With a hellish beast of a driver as such,
I knew it spelt doom when he let out its clutch;
More rabid than devils his charger it spun,
As he puffed and snorted some ominous pun:
“The birth of your master is upon us indeed!
And the flesh that he offers is on what I feed!
Come out of your shelter, resistance is futile!
Onto you! Into you! all through you with bile!”
As everything into a current would be whirled,
Sucked into its vortex as the matter all curled,
So up with a groundswell his vessel did void
The rest of my children, my spouse it enjoyed.
And then with a grinding I heard in the hull,
The earsplitting wailing of each desperate soul.
As I threw up my hands just to hide from the sight,
A vanishing vapor framed the hideous Knight.
He was covered in hair, from his hoof to his head,
And his face was quite ashen, as if he were dead;
Blood–covered whiskers were like tusks from his mane,
And he looked like a sportsman and grimaced in pain.
His eyes — how they fooled with their empty placation;
His grin showed great teeth, for raw mastication!
A torturing taunt came with bellows of wild,
Bits in his spit, bones from my own child!
A clump of fresh skin clung just near his breath,
As the drone of his engine foretold a sheer death;
He growled to the night, a right sinister cry,
And I cried when I heard it, thought I surely would die.
The black of his stare and the coil of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had ever to dread,
Though he paid me no mind and went back to his ship,
I still heard him deride, ere it twirled to a blip,
That while this time of the year the darkness relents,
“It’s your night that’s still young and not me who repents!”