Beware the crimson strings

That frame each blackened hole

That fill with fire as I come near

Fierce windows to the soul

​

Beware the black ink blotches

That bleed through tough, cracked skin

That slowly fill a neck with age

Or sooner throng with sin

​

Beware the male Box Turtle

Or soon you may regret

Having crossed someone whom you assumed

A pet but not a threat