languidly, some say, the beastie
(crawled from neath the gutter)
eats his mealworms, yum!
uncle federico, that scoundrel,
has some balloons to show us,
though, what for, we can’t say.
piping craven sounds throughout,
that harpsichord eats words–
no one can get an ear out.
triangulate the buried treasure.
there’s heaps of corpuscles in there.
but some say the words of gore
and pet the ould beastie–yowch!
spiny hair that brades the hands
is it some dainty porpentine?
or rather a delicado rhinopero?
seems the bastions been seething.
mandatory lashes for the fourth