The Thing

It sits alone
all day
all night
The Thing, they say,
is quite a fright
Yet none have ever dared
to see the thing
that lingers
so slowly
The Thing that cries
and weeps
and mourns
The Thing that eats
dead leaves
and thorns
That watches everyone
in rage from highest tree
to darkest cave
Alas, a secret which it
keeps is why it cries
and mourns
and weeps
A secret that will not be known;
The Thing will always
cry alone.