Booflang (the poem)

Why is this poem here? you might ask. Well I’ll have you know that it is here because, because…okay that’s hard to answer. Basically it’s random and I wanted to publish it. I figure  Dr. Seuss gets to do it. And Ogden Nash (and if we’re being honest, e. e. cummings, like, all the time). So, yeah. Just don’t blame Holli.
Glurk Galoshes! Gunk the funk!
Beyonder, bounders bowing bumps.
So slithered Slinky Slim.
“By all the splargs in Christendom,”
quoth Slim in Slinkenese,
“I call you dweeb, and freak and plum,
and others worse than these.”
These flargs no sooner echoed round
than round and in the hall
were four grown stallions swathed in dearth
that had regarded all.
“Before you plug that yellow ward,
you yellow livered troll,
be sure your own escape’s assured
or else your name’s Shemol.”
But heeders heed and don’ters don’t
and Slim was neither three.
So bludging past the stallions four
he tried to run…break free.
Rounder pounder helter har
the horses hounded, grim.
And sloomy Slim had nothing left
but tiny bits of him.
Tears to trowling turrid torp
glum gloomy goomers gone.
Ween-weeny, teeny Slim.

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