Bagman poem

In the shadows of a moonless night,
Beware the Bagman's eerie might.
From Bag of Holding to Bag of Fear,
He prowls in realms both far and near.

A tale woven in whispers and dread,
Of a spectral being, eyes like lead.
The Bagman, cursed, forever roams,
Between the bags, he calls his homes.

With fingers bony, gnarled, and pale,
He reaches out from within the veil.
From pockets deep and spaces small,
He emerges with a haunting call.

He steals the trinkets of mortal grasp,
A gleam in his eye, a wicked clasp.
No gem or coin, no relic rare,
Escapes his touch, his chilling stare.

Yet, his lust for treasures knows no bounds,
For people too, he greedily drowns.
Into his ethereal realm they're led,
Lost souls entwined in fear and dread.

A realm of darkness, shifting skies,
Where stolen memories in silence lies.
He binds their fates to his treasure trove,
In spectral chains, they're forced to rove.

Oh, beware the Bagman's eerie wail,
A haunting sound that tells the tale.
Of stolen goods and vanished kin,
He revels in the terror he sows within.

So heed this warning, ye who dare,
To delve in dungeons, secrets to share.
For in the shadows, he lies in wait,
The Bagman hungers, sealing fates.

And should you glimpse his spectral form,
Run far away, forsake the norm.
For once he marks you with his gloom,
You're lost to his eternal tomb.