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The Song of the Groke
by M. Lee Alexander

Beware, the Groke is out tonight
  so douse the fire, put out the light
     let her find no solace here
        in the dark days of the year.

Draw the curtains, turn away
  nothing we can do or say
     she’s born to travel barren lands
        and freeze the ground whereon she stands.

  Pity her who wanders there
     through caverns cold and mountains bare
        cursed by this strange device
           whate’er she touches turns to ice.

Helpless to relieve her pain
  the Groke is wandering again
     forced by fate to dwell apart
        she’ll trade a ruby for your heart.

The Groke is out upon the moors,
  so call your children, lock your doors!
     Let her pass by silently
        in her bone-cold misery.

Beware, the Groke is out tonight
  fearing warmth yet craving light
     desiring what she ne’er can know
        her soul stays driven like the snow.



About the Groke from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

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