3:47 AM

At 3:47, when darkness reigns supreme, A disfigured creature haunts the dream. With twisted limbs and hollow eyes, It whispers low, beneath the skies: "Ring around the Rosie, pocketful of posie," A chant distorted, eerie, ghostly. In shadows deep, it slithers near, A chilling presence, a primal fear. With every step, the earth grows cold, As whispers echo, tales untold: "Ring around the Rosie, pocketful of posie," A macabre rhyme, haunting and cozy. At 3:47, when the world's asleep, The disfigured creature starts to creep. Through twisted alleys, it prowls and preys, Its voice a hymn in the moon's soft gaze: "Ring around the Rosie, pocketful of posie," A song of darkness, twisted and rosy. So beware the hour, the dark of night, When shadows dance in eerie light. For at 3:47, the creature sings, And darkness wraps its chilling wings.