A little poem I wrote for fun. The village story about an abandoned mine.
The sight of Dungeon Snibblesnatch
A mine abandoned long ago
The miners hadn't shoes on feet
And very little game to eat
For it grew cold up in that snow!
In the Dungeon Snibblesnatch
Beneath the hollow caverns gash
But just above the toxic layer
A green and murky piece of death
With fire titled "Dragon's Breath"
Resides the Powerful Goblins of Terror
These beasts were super and very bad
In fact, the "super" I think I'll add
For in the mines of memory lost
The goblins marched in groups of eight
They huffed and puffed as they were great
For they ruled all sub-rock the frost
Seek adventure, fame, or gold?
Much's found there, or so I'm told
So bold and true, are things of you?
I dare not travel to Snibblesnatch
For fear of feeding Goblin Hatch
(The little ones no more than two)
Yet such a blade your hand must wield
Nothing yet has called your yield
What triumphs your skill has wraught
Perhaps the Powerful Goblins of Terror
Will fall by your hand in their sub-rock lair
But I will sit here, and I really think not
Poetry by weirdzarun
Read 681 times
Written on 2007-02-01 at 03:40
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The Super Powerful Goblins of Terror
Wince your eyes, and you will catchThe sight of Dungeon Snibblesnatch
A mine abandoned long ago
The miners hadn't shoes on feet
And very little game to eat
For it grew cold up in that snow!
In the Dungeon Snibblesnatch
Beneath the hollow caverns gash
But just above the toxic layer
A green and murky piece of death
With fire titled "Dragon's Breath"
Resides the Powerful Goblins of Terror
These beasts were super and very bad
In fact, the "super" I think I'll add
For in the mines of memory lost
The goblins marched in groups of eight
They huffed and puffed as they were great
For they ruled all sub-rock the frost
Seek adventure, fame, or gold?
Much's found there, or so I'm told
So bold and true, are things of you?
I dare not travel to Snibblesnatch
For fear of feeding Goblin Hatch
(The little ones no more than two)
Yet such a blade your hand must wield
Nothing yet has called your yield
What triumphs your skill has wraught
Perhaps the Powerful Goblins of Terror
Will fall by your hand in their sub-rock lair
But I will sit here, and I really think not
Poetry by weirdzarun
Read 681 times
Written on 2007-02-01 at 03:40
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
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