A sweet, melancholy ring,
The lovely children sing,
Small shoes tap to little sounds,
Together, they dance round.

A subtle change in the wind's flow,
The children stop, lined in a row,
Curious eyes search all about,
To find the one deep in a pout.

With tattered clothes and wide eyes,
The child is silent, with hidden lies,
Deep within his heart boils childish fears,
Dripping from his cheeks, they drop with tears.

"Is he real?" The child asks,
"The one with a scary mask."
The others stop and stare,
"Yes." One calls out. "Yes, and he's there."

Following the pointed finger,
The child's horrors still linger,
The children forget and begin to dance,
Never leaving the child with a glance.

Alone, the child stares at his fear,
Never blinking away the frozen tear,
Trembles and quivers escape through his hand,
Right in front of him stood the Boogeyman.