The white mask on your black head
Makes you look so stern
As you shake diamonds off your back
And fix me with your red-eyed stare
Am I good enough
To join your hen-party?
You turn around and leave
Your answer plain to see
Let’s all trot to Bishop’s Wood
Entangled roots and ankle-deep mud
Where my kin goes when we need the air
We know plenty of places to hide bodies there.
In the acid green pond and the big mossy bogs
Ducks don’t swim and you won’t see frogs
The sun leaks in through the boughs of the trees
And everything is the colour of peas.
Come one, come all, but stay on the tracks
Don’t come alone, and watch your backs
Bring kids, bring dogs – you’ll all have a lark
And make sure you’ve found your way out by dark
See the napowrimo website for more