I present, without further ado, a poem inspired by a Cthulhu pie and the desire to… improve… 18th century nursery rhymes.

Sing a song of madness,
An Old One never dies.
Four and twenty Shoggoths
Baked in a pie.

When the pie burst open,
The guests began to scream.
Wasn’t that a wicked dish,
To complete Dagon’s scheme?

Lord Cthulhu sleeps in R’leyh,
And sees us in our dreams;
Nyarlathotep babbles in the dark,
And feeds upon our screams.

The cliff-ghasts now are flying free,
Hunting for fresh meat;
And if they catch you dreaming,
Your doom will be complete.