The Monster Underneath My Bed

The blanket on my bed
Is now covering my head
To write this poem I must hide
For the monster outside the blanket will I find.

A monster with fangs and crooked teeth
Who barley hides his horns underneath
The bed on which I lay
I pray for the light of day

The monster speaks beneath my bed
To hear him I lower my head
“Come down here, little one,” he hissed
“For food, my mouth has surely missed.”

I tremble now beneath this cover
I tremble and yell “MOTHER!”
She runs down the hall making a clatter
And says “What is the matter?”

“The monster is beneath my bed!”
My mother sighs and tilts her head.
She looked underneath the bed.
“There is nothing there,” she said.

“Close your eyes and rest your head.
There is nothing beneath your little bed.
With that, she left the room,
Shutting the door with a small, quiet boom.

But I still tremble and shake
Like a small earthquake.
I know there is a monster down there.
I dare not look for fear.

What am I? A coward? No way!
I will look beneath my bed this day!
I slowly bend my back for a better view,
Making my angle a little askew.
But what do I see under the bed?
Nothing but a cap that is red!
Nice glove and a bat.
Hey! I’ve been looking for that!

How silly of me to think a monster under hear.
Why, even for it to fit would be queer.
I now know there is nothing to fear.
But I double check in case he ever reappears.