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In which we rhyme.

Grimble gramble, groused the grue when tossling up it saw,
A rare ragnunctious rander with kithering cole and slaw.

Skipping and skapping the rander wrothe, noticing none the least,
That every skap and every skip, did nearen him to the beast.

That groutful grue with famping fangs and sheer unyielding kreel,
Would feast once, twice, and thrice again on such a framptious meal.

Its tapping trendils and trapping tendrils waited for their turn,
To pap, snack, crop and slamp away the meaty little kern.

Tho sun was shining loudly, and clouds were drifting bright,
No warning warned the rander, the plightness of his plight.

He skipped too far, he skapped too near, and soon he’d pay the price,
With swaftest speed the grue struck out and neatly snortched a slice.

Not once, of course, but twice, and thrice, for rander, slaw and cole,
It schlumped the three with kithering, and bruised on to its hole.

Tis only fair, it later shared, whilst it wheezed thru lordling sneezes,
One cannot skap and skip one’s roins, any way one pleases.

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