Who Are They?

         Who are they?

Sits the question in my head

Like a person but also not

All grey and scaly rot

To work they go, like mortals

Some swift and some are slow

Farming for their sustenance,

Though they need not for bread

Quiet now I hear the beast,

And I am shaken from my bed

Who ARE they? I ask aloud

And moaning is his reply

I wish I’d asked him more

Before he fed, but alas I am

                dead.