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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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