The Incubus
S
Sheena Blackhall
0
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I had a little Incubus,
It sat upon a chair
And in my sleep that incubus
Would roll its eyes and stare
It was a horrid looking thing
With pointy ears and toes
Its breath was rank as rotting flesh
Of rats and embryos
I had a little Incubus
When I grew well, he left
And strangely in a perverse way
I almost felt bereft
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