MystyrMystyry
01-13-2015, 07:06 AM
That's it! I've had enough! I'm escaping into out of space to live with wongly wooblies;
Their eyes are red (I've heard it said) and they pedal their bicyles with their hands;
The oceans they swim in are frozen over, but they hitch rides on the backs of bongly booblies;
They are early to bed (this I have read), and they sleep to the sound of loud brass bands;
I've packed my bags and repaired my rocket, and even have a spare set of keys;
I'll leave at Noon (none too soon) and you won't see me launch for the dust;
I've sent off some cards with my new address, and a number they can reach with ease;
I'll be gone soon (with Mr MacGoon), though I might return in my bucket of rust;
Yes I may return for the Easter break, or for the Summer, whichever comes first;
I've bid my farewells (with whistles and bells) but now I must really be off;
To those who can't come, I'm very sorry, but it's something I must truly durst;
With a ringing of bells (and liquids and gels) here is my hat which I doff;
With a click and a hiss the engines start up, then slowly roar into life;
I have a cut lunch (which I may have for brunch), and instead have apples for main;
Taped to the wall is a map of the stars, and a smaller one to avoid any strife;
I'm hungry for brunch (want to give it a munch), so far from breakfast is pain;
Before I know it I've left the solar system, and now it's plain sailing from here;
We'll pass through a few (at least one or two), before we arrive at our destination;
Meteors and comets and asteroids, lots of space riff raff we fly near;
More than one, perhaps two (that will do), we strike, due to incorrect guesstimation;
At last we land, on a patch of black dirt, an island of the stuff in the icy sea;
And we see wongly wooblies (riding bongly booblies) beneath the frozen waves;
"Look there!" exclaims Mr MacGoon at our hosts' oceanic antics full of glee;
But the bongly booblies (and thus wongly wooblies) at dusk return to their caves;
We will wait until then, eating dinner for lunch, for the sun to slowly go down;
And when it does (there'll be such a buzz!) we'll have supper for dinner instead!
"I wonder," he starts, with a withering fart, "should we greet with smile or frown?"
Then there's a buzz (fluffy with fuzz), as from a hole their king raises his head;
"Interlopers! Intruders!" he blows on his horn: a call to the wooblies to come;
And so they do (like monkeys in a zoo) they rise and snatch us down to the depths;
There in the distance the city's magnificence shines like a jewel made of gum;
Also a zoo! (made of bamboo) full of lobsters and crabs - but can we hold our breaths?
Of course we can! And tear away with elan, and dive straight down to the tasty snacks!
Breakfast for supper! (I'll have the upper), and then we'll let them give us a tour;
It looks quite nice, though not as nice as the seafood, and those are the facts!
A bunk bed! I take upper (lower's a crupper), and we ponder the soup du jour;
Ah the wooblies so welcoming, they put on a show: in our room a large cooking pot!
We wonder what delicacy (oh the ecstacy!) shall provide the main dish;
But soon we are answered by a pointy spear gesturing it is us: that is our lot!
Gone is the ecstacy (for me especially) because I had been envisioning fish;
We again break free, and swim for the surface, and wake up a sleeping boobly;
To get to my rocket (it works - don't knock it), so we may escape away;
It doesn't come peacefully - it's a drag actually - but we could hardly ride a woobly;
On its skull we knock it (and drag into the rocket), for something to eat on the way;
.
Their eyes are red (I've heard it said) and they pedal their bicyles with their hands;
The oceans they swim in are frozen over, but they hitch rides on the backs of bongly booblies;
They are early to bed (this I have read), and they sleep to the sound of loud brass bands;
I've packed my bags and repaired my rocket, and even have a spare set of keys;
I'll leave at Noon (none too soon) and you won't see me launch for the dust;
I've sent off some cards with my new address, and a number they can reach with ease;
I'll be gone soon (with Mr MacGoon), though I might return in my bucket of rust;
Yes I may return for the Easter break, or for the Summer, whichever comes first;
I've bid my farewells (with whistles and bells) but now I must really be off;
To those who can't come, I'm very sorry, but it's something I must truly durst;
With a ringing of bells (and liquids and gels) here is my hat which I doff;
With a click and a hiss the engines start up, then slowly roar into life;
I have a cut lunch (which I may have for brunch), and instead have apples for main;
Taped to the wall is a map of the stars, and a smaller one to avoid any strife;
I'm hungry for brunch (want to give it a munch), so far from breakfast is pain;
Before I know it I've left the solar system, and now it's plain sailing from here;
We'll pass through a few (at least one or two), before we arrive at our destination;
Meteors and comets and asteroids, lots of space riff raff we fly near;
More than one, perhaps two (that will do), we strike, due to incorrect guesstimation;
At last we land, on a patch of black dirt, an island of the stuff in the icy sea;
And we see wongly wooblies (riding bongly booblies) beneath the frozen waves;
"Look there!" exclaims Mr MacGoon at our hosts' oceanic antics full of glee;
But the bongly booblies (and thus wongly wooblies) at dusk return to their caves;
We will wait until then, eating dinner for lunch, for the sun to slowly go down;
And when it does (there'll be such a buzz!) we'll have supper for dinner instead!
"I wonder," he starts, with a withering fart, "should we greet with smile or frown?"
Then there's a buzz (fluffy with fuzz), as from a hole their king raises his head;
"Interlopers! Intruders!" he blows on his horn: a call to the wooblies to come;
And so they do (like monkeys in a zoo) they rise and snatch us down to the depths;
There in the distance the city's magnificence shines like a jewel made of gum;
Also a zoo! (made of bamboo) full of lobsters and crabs - but can we hold our breaths?
Of course we can! And tear away with elan, and dive straight down to the tasty snacks!
Breakfast for supper! (I'll have the upper), and then we'll let them give us a tour;
It looks quite nice, though not as nice as the seafood, and those are the facts!
A bunk bed! I take upper (lower's a crupper), and we ponder the soup du jour;
Ah the wooblies so welcoming, they put on a show: in our room a large cooking pot!
We wonder what delicacy (oh the ecstacy!) shall provide the main dish;
But soon we are answered by a pointy spear gesturing it is us: that is our lot!
Gone is the ecstacy (for me especially) because I had been envisioning fish;
We again break free, and swim for the surface, and wake up a sleeping boobly;
To get to my rocket (it works - don't knock it), so we may escape away;
It doesn't come peacefully - it's a drag actually - but we could hardly ride a woobly;
On its skull we knock it (and drag into the rocket), for something to eat on the way;
.