The idol’s eyes, dead bronze, gave off despair,
It sat upon its throne of auroch skulls,
The peeling plasters’ paint showed pretty trulls
With long and flowing sable locks of hair.
I sensed there was some evil in the air
And this my restless mind began to mull
Yet now its eyes were bright, which had been dull,
I watched it rise from off its grisly chair.
I crossed the floor in one quick leap and bound,
Yet heard those bronze legs crunch so close behind,
My ringing fear was now too quickly crowned,
As in its grasp I gasped and all went blind.
Now in that temple grim, twice sinister,
That idol has another minister.
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Submission Name: The Unfortunate Anthropologist
