Ive lost track of time,
the hours slip by

for near an eternity,
there as been no sign...

Of movement

The Thing is...

Zounds! It stirs!

Crawling, pushing, squirming;
it disgusts me

I feel my mind race,
muscles tense,

Weapons at the ready...

I attack!

The beast retreats,
as I strike

Coward...
I think to myself
crouching down once more

Yet it puzzles me
whenever The Thing and I met

He always hides...
Under my masters Feet