"There is but a mere toad of fort years, with eyes like lemon drops and feet which smell of fears. Tonight is his night, a special one indeed, he shall turn up slight, and be made into thy mead. Caviler, you say! No he is not. He shall not sway, nor shall he rot. Boiling worms and pus from a dog, he desires such sustenance for he lives in a bog. Did you see him come, did you see him go? The answer is of course 'No'. He sees you, and watches you make pleasure, as his senses are beyond any true mortal's measure. Think of him not when you fall asleep, it only makes him stronger, and he'll soon make you weep. No rhyme can describe the toad of colmoor, for he is eternal, no less, no more." The Toad of Colmoor by Tobe Ray Dapell, from The Book of Myrah Flewus