I believe it’s Poetry Day

Inspired by Margery Allingham, via the immortal Magersfontein Lugg

There’s somefing horrid in the cellar,
Dunno wot, but it’s there.
They won’t tell me wot it looks like,
Nor wot the damn fing’s called

But I know it is down there,
Giggling in the dark;
Somefink grey and large and awful,
Wot wails and creaks and gnaws.

It ‘ides from me torch light,
It skitters in the dust,
It quivers in the shadows.
Like horrid fings must.

There’s somefink horrid in the cellar,
Somefink like a jellied lump.
The fing wot’s in the cellar,
They feeds it wiv a pump.