Kobold

Welcome ye homeward knave Pulled up from darkness Dug up from it's grave The forceps in striving splayed To grasp the object And drag it from it's cave A cry The dread A life is spat Balancing by it's head Unearthed Fevered it looks unwell You're sure it's going the way? It may not tell Encompassed, the maelstrom spins The poles are reversing again Each course in upheaval depends The way is unclear But the right illumines the frightful steer To move Somber it hefts it's work To feed the mother To supplement the dirt And ponders if it's own weight Could add or subtract to the days If all was here anyways The way is clear It's right over here I think