Little Bruno and the Evil Elf

It cackles on the windowsill,
Green fingers grasping at the wall,
A pointed nose sniffing the air,
Wild eyes in an evil thrall:

“Come, my child, come,
For your friend is here.
Just step forward, little boy;
Just step closer, come near.�

And young Bruno, eyes wide, shuffles to
The windowsill, the laugh drawing him in,
And up he looks to the bony elf,
Calling him its kin.

“My friend?� says he, a little shy,
Fear fighting the creature’s spell,
For he remembers the lessons taught
By his loving parents so well.

“Yes,� it snickers to the room,
Its tongue upon its lips,
“Yes, O Little One,
Come into my friendly grip.�

And as poor Bruno draws closer still,
The elf’s impatience grows,
And prematurely bares its teeth-
And then, the child knows.

“Cretin!� is his shrieking cry
As he grabs first thing in sight,
And hits it on the creature’s head-
Under the cauldron, it dies.

And now I hope it’s plain to see
That when an erkling comes near
That you shall hit it on the head,
And then you’ll be safe, my dear.