I hear the whispers of the night,
Strange sounds are all around.
Huddled deep in my bed with fright,
Listening to my heart pound.
Imagination rooted deep inside of me,
Conjures up all kinds of beings weird.
I should not eat so much for tea,
Then I would not see the man with the beard.
Small old eyes red with blood,
Mouth opening and closing wide,
I fell out of my bed with a thud.,
Seeking for a place to hide.

by Bernard Shaw

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