As silence filled the winkled night
A fentil beast arose in flight.
Gojolling up, the gwifford weeched,
and sporanooned above a spleecht.
All canticored, the spleecht arose,
The warthing gwifford to oppose.
A swift kertwang tore loose one spling,
Disabling the gwifford’s wing.
Without that spling he fleeled in flight,
Careening through the winkled night.
The spleecht kuleened, the gwifford fell.
The eerie sounds bespoke of Hell.
Across the tornid land arose
An answering cacophened trose.
All hastored round the fallen beast
And wistercorned the honored spleecht.
In future years the torngs will speak
Of one predanored, cupris night
When a fentil beast was slain in flight.