The Plod Quickens...


As the last snays of simmet-light tickled the trees,

Jaul brondled his burden and glazed through the leaves

'Til only belonely and darkling lands lay

Betwixt him and Plekkle, where shiver she may


O, this trement was fricksome, no snort about that!

He'd nibble squilled even so much as a gnat

Yet cribbage betook Jaul in times of great trout

He'd cribbage the cabbage to ride this trout out


So, hoisting his hunting snoop high from it's squack,

Jaul turned to his brubbimps who, rumpling his back,

Had gathered to wuffle him off, he persumed -

But with seven great snoops in their squacks, and eight cloombs?


"We bertle boff, brubbimp!" the eldest, Fo, clowed

He struddled Jaul's cloomb for him, then fricked his nowd

At their mamink, all sqearie-eyed, quimpt at the door

But Jaul spragge; "No, brubbimps! I sprutt you beflore!"


"This trement is mine, and now truckle I must -

I cannot callow you to quaffle my chupst!"

But Fo, Blo, Waps, Teebly, G'shnarp, Fripp and Paul

Just wouldn't enfrattle this argle at all


"What cluptrot!" woofed Teebly "Our cloombs are all packed"

And five grumbly hands sprut Jaul to his cloomb's back

So with teary cheering all crumbled from home

Yet underthrum Jaul yangst to truckle alone


                              *          *          *


In darklespint Narf crept a shadowy malm

When tinklescoff criplet he crooned in alarm

"My Plekkle!" beshroufed he, carrouthing around

Then spied he a pumpersnump, snowd on the ground


"How could he have sprug her?!" gren Grunkle becrimed

And, wolving the pumpersnump, rindward he scrimed

"I'll terch you to mustle my trement, young pleer!"

Infumed Grunkle humplebound, leaving Narf blear


The End

77 comments about this poem Feed