Messant was a druffle by far!
He preferred to wuffle in the deep unjies than take to the swelt.
I’d always looked upon the dreg as a ruffle friend but he’d fly less keenly than a rufus pig!
But he had engee unseen. Panting fervantly he’d clamber and amber wherever i weemed.
And oh did i weem?!
High upon the tail down deep furrow swail, over laugomy hills and farzee,
farzee way. Our Rifid awkes all chaffed and forlorn, would return to our messant and slump down our lawns.
But though might we swelt we’d feel so alive and share all our oggles and feed each our sights.
And when Messant left, i would welt were he sat, and fumble and fidget and feel all clat.
Sum up thy rebel and thwart the wibble, i found him again and told my heart.
We ploughed through our plies, and wooshed at our sides, and kept the fever alive.
We journied many moons, sought rumble in shadows, fought muffle in gaddows but kept just alive.
Our galant arrival to some distant yarn, a fair grooble city upon a far distant land.
Steeples so high that a terra would swear, colours so fragrant to dribble our cares.
We met hooglees and mangrants, fair magrees and foul. Ate hoofers and mushees too valpor to cower.
And all through our moos and our ringlid astare, we loved only both and finally returned to cout air.
But time stands for flagrant, and worms still need groo, and our meeshes ran dry in the harsh home we shrued.
So away with the Nigress we flew, and settled on farmland and there we pusherood.
But now Messant is old, and his varpels are crimpled, mine too are bedrayed and we can no longer voopaloo.
So we stay in most evenings, and share our memories with strangers from Varkran and Soomly for you.
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