And the beast was filled with rage.
So it laid the countryside to waste;
The villagers all fled in haste,
Disappearing down the Rawson's Trace
Past the mountains of Doolye.
The beast still lies 'mongst the mountain peaks,
A smile playing on it's twisted beak,
Surveying the havoc that it's wreaked
As it shouts it's vic'try cry.
Bonnie Mutchler has returned to her childhood state of Iowa where she lives in a Victorian house with her family, 5 cats, 2 dogs and 5 turtles. She has written poetry since she was a child. She is also trying to start a book cover business. She has a web site for book covers at bonniemutchlercovers.wordpress.com
She also is on facebook at https://www.facebook.com/bonnie.mutchler