The Wicked Come

The Wardrobe In The Nursery

A child sent to bed, for he has done wrong
Amongst happy returns, now does not belong,
Up and away, to climb the endless stair
A sulk and a tear, it is just not fair.
“Straight to bed, and light, straight out”
Where his parent’s last words or round and about,
The stairs got higher, the more he climbed
And darker the house, in which he must find,
The bedroom to which, he locked himself in
Slunk into the blankets and thought of his sin,
Across the room, he stared quite afraid
Huddled himself up, while tricks his mind played,
For there on the wall, two doors tall and shut
Held all his nightmares, a knot in his gut.
Eyes opened wide, not daring to breathe
His heart was pounding and his chest heaved,
He remembered stories of monsters and ghosts
The bogeyman was the scariest, he remembered the most.
But now in the dark, he was alone
In front of the wardrobe from which came a moan,
His eyes even wider, dare he go see,
To confront his fears, how brave was he?
This time a bang! from the doors behind,
He stood petrified and silent, what would he find?
Another groan and scratching as well
He reached for the handles, of these doors to hell.
In his dressing gown he stood, a sorrowful sight
Tears rolled down his cheeks and was frozen with fright,
He must open the door and see for himself,
What is in the wardrobe? Monster or shelf?
At last he braved, and pulled open the door,
They swung full back, as he fell on the floor
At last he knew, and wider where his eyes
T’was the last thing he witnessed, but was no surprise...

By

Mark Walmsley © 2011