The smoke slipped up the smouldering stairs,
And formed a clotted cloud,
Beneath the bed, I watched it burn,
Ensconced and safe in shroud.
My plan, perfect in preparation,
Now deemed almost done,
Would free me from this foul fiend:
My liberty soon won.
But then, through darkness dank and dread,
To rob me of my right,
A shape came shifting swiftly through,
And lifted me to light.
And there, the creature cruel and callous,
Waiting; I began,
To think as she held out her arms,
'This did not go to plan'.