(Poem) The Biddlyblatch

Over widdle and wattch,
went the Biddlyblatch,
jumping and hopping each row;
But who gives a fiddle,
or dares answer the riddle,
of where a Biddlyblatch might go?

Not I! says the crier,
Maybe I? says the liar,
while the fool stands around and drools;
But a nuisance it is,
that eats our grapes and our figs,
and breaks every farmer’s rules!

Does a Biddlyblatch eat honey?
or look like a bunny?
Nobody seems to know!
The apple barrels are empty?
we had saved up plenty!
Where does all of our food go?!

We searched the widdle and wattch,
finding no Biddlyblatch,
and began to search the trees;
We poked them with sticks,
checked all the cricks,
but no Biddlyblatch did we see!

As we were about to give up,
maybe sit down to sup,
we heard the most haunting sound!
The farms were all dark,
the sound couldn’t be a lark,
and we kept turning round and round.

We gathered our weapons and sticks,
walked barefoot back through the cricks,
and approached a low berry patch;
We double-checked our greaves,
parted green and blue leaves,
to find the culprit we couldn’t catch!

A Biddlyblatch has lips made like bow,
mud on each and every toe,
and giggles the whole time it’s hid;
But try as we might,
to chase and to fight,
we could not chase down this kid!

So let this be a lesson,
an old man’s confession,
about the Biddlyblatch and its run;
We spent days stressed out chasing,
our feet sore from tripping and racing,
while the Biddlyblatch just had fun.

—-

A little tribute to the stylings of Carroll.

This entry was posted on January 6, 2008 at 12:33 am and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response or trackback from your own site.

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