Ol' Scratch (in iambic poly-verse)

Ol' Scratch, a fine an merry one was he.

In fields so dark he ruled alone .

So grim a fate he cast so fierce

on lonely sod and anguish tree.

With claws and bite for ever more

he draws a blood no costlier found

from hearts a broken and scattered a ground.

Ol' Scratch, who cut a deeper wound

than  sword or knife or tongue did he.

Ol' Scratch,  who knows thy shaming now

yet holds them back, a blade precisely placed

for your soul he doth debase.

Ol' Scratch.

The End

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