Where he comes from, nobody knows, he does live,

A myth, a fable, only a child believes, one who has seen.

Along the riverbank of a small eastern town in Maine,

A place of play for a boy named Luke, this is no dream.

Many fantastic tales he does tell, who will listen this time?

Described to others as a type of elf, an ugly troll.

Many late afternoons is when Luke visits the river,

Today it is a bit windy, he will appear once more.

He speaks to Luke in whispers, I am Porfinifigus,

I am created from your thoughts and fears.

Why do you find me here each day, are you real?

I told you that I live in you, you gave me a name.

There are wishes that you ask for, I can hear you,

With every wish there comes a curse.

I have many things to wish for, will they be mine?

For everything you receive, something I will take.

I wish for all things in this town be mine,

Foolish boy, everything in this town be nomore.

Keith Garrett

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