The Grimble grumbled as he ambled down the slimy stairs.
His hair dripped grease,
his clothes they reeked,
and flies chased the stink of his ears.
In one corner sat a chair
covered with burrs and blips,
it seemed to shudder,
as he hovered,
and pursed his dry, bleeding lips.
He mumbled to himself,
in a cankerous, almost expected way.
"Shizzle shuzzum, as she wazzum,"
he waved his hands and turned the chair into hay.
The hay it trembled,
as he thimbled
both his forefinger and his thumb.
He held the pin to the light of the moon,
grew his grin,scratched his chin,
and laughed the laugh of a drunken baboon.
As the hay shivered,
the old wizard wizards,
and dropped the pin into the quivers
of hay as it screamed out, "YOU!"
The old man snarled and turned again,
his gait as decrepit as his nails.
He hummed his melodious song,
hiccuped as he scuttled along,
and the hay inhaled the needle on a wail.