Twenty-two - Treaclewood

The run did size upon the day,

the myre did gimble to the lair,

the lair was dank in Treaclewood,

all was knee deep in despair.

Mon morton mon, an treeful lad,

did make his way upon the sigh

and came upon the careful place,

the place where all the corpses lie.

Did then he speak an wolfish tale,

did then he skank and screee,

did then the lair begin to fade -

to shrink into the klee.

Mon morton mon did laugh aloud,

did chiggle, grunt and snooze,

and lair no more did Treaclewood,

and lair no more did ruse.

But Treaclewood was not for some

An oobid grunting flare

And mice as well did canterwell

Into that fable’s lair

And one a mouse called Ooglescrunch

Mon morton mon did spy

And knowing how the chig did chug

Decided it should die

But Ooglescrunch was short of fur

And fuzzed with finking fett

So when he saw Mon morton mon

He gumbled into grett

And into grett he gumbled more

And ever down he’d slide

Into the skank, into the scree

The lair where corpses lied

And lied they did and ley they still

And darkness rich with mud

And Ooglescruch whispered to them

Word games of chitinous blood

The dead ears drank the doogleblak

That Ooglescrunch descried

And rose up from their skank and scree

Those corpses that had died

Mon morton mon was caught off guard

His wolfish tale undone

And Ooglescrunch did laugh to see

That treeful lad to run

And run he did from Treaclewood

And running he is still

For corpses roam the underglen

And mouses eat their fill

So goes the tale of Treaclewood

Still knee deep in despair

Go not you down below the trees

A corpse shall find thee there.