As I walked through a bitter wintry night,
ghosts whispered through my ears a tale of fright.
I felt my throat growing slightly tighter,
as I hear them speak of a mysterious writer.

A man of tremendous talent once walked this town,
and he would always wear a coat of hazel brown.
He wrote stories of wonder that brought children glee,
and people would always ask for more with plea.

Though when discrimination unleashed its wrath,
prejudice stood against his path.
As men and women mocked his believes,
all of his happiness were mourned in grieves.

As his resentments were freed from chains,
rebellious anger in his story it gains.
Vengeance of evil in his tales did fly,
a mad man he became as he cursed to the sky.

Unjust it was to him; evil crippled his mind,
he massacred the town as if he was blind.
And when his sins did wrap around his head,
his knees buckled and he was dead.

My lips were quivering upon hearing this tale.
Frozen as I was, my face grew pale.
Petrified I was as my heart jumped to my throat,
because I was the man in that hazel brown coat.