A tall slim build,

With a briefcase

In hand,

Two eyes,

sunk in,

Long chin, just grand,

With no hair,

Bald like a match,

With hooves to stand,

And with his grin,

Pressed suit,

With a ring,

Of tin,

I shutter to think,

Inside the case,

I did not see,

But from inside,

The rectangular box,

I heard a squee,

Like that of a child,

scared cat,

Or dying piggy,

I don’t know what I saw,

I haven’t a clue,

But go in those woods,

And he’ll find you.