Poetry

Boney

by Evan Crowe

When night falls I climb from my grave

To look for some children to take as my slaves

You see I died and lost all my skin

So I need to eat something as I've got very thin.

 

My friends call me Boney and they can talk

I've heard them rattle whenever they walk.

I've got no eyes, they were eaten by slugs

I've lost all my insides to a couple of bugs.

 

It's no fun being skinny, boney and cold,

I'd rather be happy and alive, growing old.

 

*** Winner of the poetry competition at the RTE Symphony Orchestra concert (WELL DONE EVAN!!)