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CCXVIII

December 15, 2013

Hidden in the coldness of the winter air,
he’s coming for the children who don’t say their prayers.
Riding on the back of frozen Jack Frost’s wind,
he’s flying to the beds of children who have sinned.

Bury him in shackles by a poplar tree,
or in the night he’ll rise up and come ravaging.
Bathe his grave in holy water blessed by Christ,
or watch for him in darkness when there is no light.

Eyes like winter pools will watch you when you sleep:
he slips into your bedroom when your rest is deep.
Fingers made of ice and stone will stop your heart
and claws of hardened charcoal will tear you apart.

Bury him in shackles by a poplar tree,
or in the night he’ll rise up and come ravaging.
Bathe his grave in holy water blessed by Christ,
or watch for him in darkness when there is no light.

Born beneath the snow and mothered by the cold
he was barely off the suck when his soul was sold.
Satan in his wisdom drove him back to earth,
where suckled by the wind he had a second birth.

Bury him in shackles by a poplar tree,
or in the night he’ll rise up and come ravaging.
Bathe his grave in holy water blessed by Christ,
or watch for him in darkness when there is no light.

Hardened by the cold of winter’s icy breath,
he does not flinch at killing and he laughs at death.
Drawn by fear and villainy, he’ll end your life,
he’ll steal your final breath with a butcher’s knife.

Bury him in shackles by a poplar tree,
or in the night he’ll rise up and come ravaging.
Bathe his grave in holy water blessed by Christ,
or watch for him in darkness when there is no light.

Children, say your prayers with a contrite heart,
or in the night he’ll come to tear your soul apart.
Wisdom from your elders should not be dismissed,
for when their words are absent he is in your midst.

For you buried him in shackles by a poplar tree,
but in the night he rose up and came ravaging.
You bathed his grave in holy water blessed by Christ,
but still found him in the darkness where there was no light.

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