A black steed with eyes pure white
A pair of scales set just right
Two brown eyes on gold-brown skin
His body small, his body thin
A jacket with pockets full of food
A hat, a mouth that’s much to rude
“Thou art Famine” one would say
One who turns things into ash-grey
A sucker of life, an energy taker
Someone who’d be in love with a baker
The second rider in the book
His name is Remmy, a terrible cook.
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