In the rivers flood running fast,
a shape came floating past,
from where I stood, staring
with curiosity. As I went nearer
the amorphous thing I beheld
and mad I went; screaming in horror.
For the shape was neither dead nor
alive, bloated and distended
and rotten it floated on nigh.
Then the horrid, half-decayed
form reanimated as I stood there
prostrate, unable to move or to
lift a limb. A stench welled up,
as of a thousend charnel pits
and sepulchres, strangling the grass
and the flowers, befouling them.
The thing reared up slowly and shuffling,
menacing it made some steps
where I stood, certain sounds it uttered,
words full of repulsiveness and wickedness.
The shape then raised a fetid paw, plunging
half-blind forward, where I cowered in frantic fear,
transfixed by some malevolent will.
My mind went dark and numb, as the thing drew closer
and closer. As I at last regained my senses,
there lingered still that loathsome, foul
odour, that no clean air could vanquish.
Blindly and delirious and half-mad I stumpled
over that befouled river-bank until I could
smell the wholesome air, whilst my head
still swirled and reeled from the minds ordeal.
Thereafter I dared not
to go back, where the grass
and flowers where dead shriveled
as by some vile sorcery.
