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.â€
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.â€
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.