The three heads of the hellhound

He barks and paws, he chops with big jaws.
Shadow who waits, right at front gates.
Ferocious sharp claws, at hell's front door.
Three fearsome heads; dusk, day, and morn.
Hovering over smouldering iron bars of rust.
That dog makes the ego cower in dread.
Shadows quiver the vibrations of the dead.
Humility fears not of Hades familiar.
Arrogance leaches across crooked burnt earth.
Humblest man, he'll greet as a friend.
Losing his hubris in debris written as his end.