The library is an awfully quiet place

and is for an awfully good reason.

See, there is a wicked old librarian

who thinks of loud noises as treason!

She’s at all libraries and none at once,

hidden and watching from the books behind you!

If you knew how she looked—the awful sight!

you’d be as quiet as you could be, too.

Her fingers are a long and crooked sight,

her skin is pale with the color of death.

Her grey hair is pulled back to a bun, the ends

curling from the stench of her putrid breath.

Between her terribly gaunt cheeks there sits

a slender mouth that’s fit solely for shushing.

A pair of bifocals rest upon her nose,

and her angry stare will leave you blushing.

Blue veins decorate her wrinkled temples,

there are blood stains on her turtleneck.

She’ll sneak up on you from behind, to punish,

if manners be something you neglect.

Most patrons are silent at the library,

not just because they’re trying to be polite.

Even with their hushed words, they still worry

that with one loud word they’ll whet her appetite!

Every so often there’s a loud child, still,

who doesn’t know the library’s terror:

Those unaware of the creepy secret,

and the graveness of their noisy error.

If the kid were to yell, the librarian

might come to pluck out their noisy tongue.

If she found them stomping, she’d have no issue

taking the feet and the legs of the young.

So, if you hear a ‘Shh!’ you’d better hush

for she’s close by and in need of something, too.

The librarian could use a new bookmark,

and a stomping foot or tongue would do.