Long, long ago lived a quiet old man
With a silver grey beard and a twitch in his hand
With his job for the City, great care he would take
As he watched o’er the boat house on old Culler Lake
Now at dusk as the sun set before he’d retire
The glistening moonlight he’d often admire
And the still of the water upon which it shone
Seemed to beckon “come closer” in a strange hollowed tone
Then one night as he pondered obeying the sound
And as nearer he crept to the bank on the ground
A thick frothy fog made the lake disappear
‘Til it lifted as sudden as it did appear
To uncover a vision of something afloat
In the shape of an odd fisher-man in a boat
He was covered in seaweed; strange sounds he did make
As he cast out a line from his boat on the lake
When in only a moment it jerked with a snatch
And a fight then ensued between him and his catch
The earth shook in rumbles, the lake waters churned
There were cavernous echoes in conflict discerned
Midst perilous gurgles of gasping and groan
The contest raged rampant; the victor unknown
When the struggle was over and battle achieved
What was reeled from the lake no-one ever believed
But MISSING was he with the twitch in his hand
And the silver-grey beard of the quiet old man
With a warning to give you, he leaves you to know
That when fog hovers round, near the Lake… do not go…
Though still guarding the boat house, he’s not within sight
For the Culler Lake Monster went fishing that night.
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