Cary Briel

His name was Wormwood,
Or so they said,
With rough hewn scales
To line his head,
And death-fright look
From streaking far,
And falling fast,
The death-cursed star;

But he seemed to be,
As far as I could tell,
Normal,
So far from hell;
Seemed like a brother,
Or familiar aunt,
But with thick scales,
The proof was scant;

And as he walked
There followed cloud,
Except at night
His fiery shroud;
And his real name,
Or so he said,
Is not Wormwood,
Different instead.