Yeti (the early years: before 1972)


When snow and wind skirt the peaks

and leaves have found the ground,

the lower lands speak of the menace,

the nightmare yet unfound.


They creep around the fireside

closer as the embers die

and scream, chant, and cry

until the sun can find the sky.


Then they seek the haunted crags

but the wary mortal comes

to find a quiet repose and

fear what isn’t man;


yet not beast, most people say,

this demon from some far away

forgotten place that causes mind

to drift away from the cast of time.


So, bar the windows, bolt the door,

clutch your covers tight,

when the food is not up high

the Yeti comes at night.


About johnsmithiiimxiii

John Smith, IIMXIII is the avatar of an award winning poet, artist, etc. who still lives in the Palouse country of the Pacific NW. He has not received much notice with his prose . . . but as his avatar, I hope that he keeps plugging along.

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