Below

Below

In
The
Back 
Yard,
Beneath 
The
Cypress
Tree,
Is 
A 
Round
Hole
In
The
Ground
That
Worries
Me.
When 
I pass,
I fear
I’ll
See
Some
Ghastly
Creature
Whose
Main
Feature
Is
A
Poison
Stinger
Designed
To 
Nip 
Me
In 
A 
Finger
Or
A
Toe, 
And
Cause
Me
Extreme
Woe.
I hurry
By,
Dreading
It’s
Feral
Breath,
And
A 
Dreamy
Death
If, 
Like
Alice, 
I should
Fall
Down
Into 
A
Chambered
Palace,
Disappear,
And
No 
One
Would 
Ever 
Hear.