His Fear

No one has ever spoken of it,
But there is a way,
He will never hit,
And will start to fade away.

Snakes, rats, cats, stakes,
They will never scare,
But with spoons, brooms, and lakes,
That He, beware.

Everyone grab some silverware,
And get those sweepers and dock,
For we're traveling to His lair,
At five around the clock.

Don't think we won't,
Because we surely will,
He's just a don't,
We'll plumber Him down the hill.

Let's go great people,
We're going to go take over,
From the bottom to the steeple,
When we find Him,
Plow Him Over! ! !

poem by Mystykka Mysterious
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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