*
Tread light,
grind hard into cotton white;

was only few counted ways till pulled benight,
you lil ole trite -

Ssshh... I can't understand mine foresight!
All that whimpering womp womp fight.

Disembodied voices lurk shadows tonight,
a disturbance is present just beyond peripheral sight;

I'll trip you sprite
& one shall cascade across floors fabric tides,
before mine rolls on all fours in downward hind side.