An Ode to Mothman, Enigma of Point Pleasant

In the shadowed hills of West Virginia’s embrace,

A creature lurked, captivating the human race,

Mothman, they called him, mysterious and bold,

His legend spun in whispers, ancient stories retold.

With eyes like fiery rubies, glowing in the night,

He soared through the darkness, a bewildering sight,

In the autumn of ’66, he revealed his grand debut,

To startled witnesses, as the moonlit shadows grew.

Couples in their car, hearts gripped by fear,

Witnessing the enigma, drawing ever near,

A silhouette of dread, against the moonlight stark,

Mothman emerged, leaving an indelible mark.

Through the years he wandered, stories in his wake,

Of homes he loomed outside, of dogs he’d forsake,

An aura of mystery, an aura of dread,

In whispers and hushed tones, the legend spread.

In Point Pleasant’s embrace, a native son arose,

Jeff Wamsley, the keeper, as the legend goes,

With pride and passion, he’d unveil the lore,

In the Mothman Museum, his tales would soar.

The festival would gather, enthusiasts near and far,

Chasing the enigma, like following a distant star,

Mothman on T-shirts, a symbol of their pride,

In Point Pleasant’s embrace, where the legend did reside.

Cryptids and tales, ancient and true,

Bind us to our roots, in ways we never knew,

For in each small town, mysteries unfold,

Legends, both chilling and wondrous, ancient stories retold.

Mothman, a herald of the darkened woods,

A hometown hero, in misunderstood hoods,

In whispers and echoes, through the ages he’ll soar,

A cryptid, a legend, forevermore.