THE BUNGLETHORN
(A Nonsense Poem for Children)
Lewis Carol never wrote
Anything as silly
As the search for Bunglethorn
Taken willy-nilly.
Starting with our Uncle Sam
When first he was a youth;
Always knowing right from wrong
But not too sure of truth.
Yellow journals beat the drum
And tooted their own horn
Screaming we must go and fight
The fiendish Bunglethorn!
Experts soon began to bray
That Bunglethorn was real.
Bunglethorn must be put down
With cold and frivous steel.
Those who in their innocence
Soon asked what it was like
Were told if flung a wamble
And surely rode a bike.
It ate a balanced breakfast
But never blew its nose.
Miffled only once a year
And had ten-thousand toes.
Dangerous to young and old
And sneering at our flutz.
Bunglethorn could be defined
As something very glutz.
Off we went to hunt it down
Across the ocean cheese,
Trampling the Curds and Whey
While singing Pretty Please.
Bunglethorn did not appear
But we were not dismayed;
Snapping up some tropic isles
While asphalt roads were laid.
That Bunglethorn was wily.
That Bunglethorn was slow.
We thought we had it cornered
Behind a domino.
As buttering the coast
We slid past the Bunglethorn
To hold a napalm roast.
Playing bingo with young men
Who can't cross the border.
Uncle Sam gave them a wink
Marching into Mordor.
Craven Bunglethorn did hide
Though it had to be there,
Proven by the very fact
Of the scars that we bear.
Years did come and years did go
And years lay in-between.
Destiny was manifest
But Bunglethorn unseen.
Then the mighty
Did think he smelled the beast
Snuffling around the sand
Out in the
Took some snapshots quickly
Showing that the Bunglethorn
Made the world quite prickly.
Playing cards were brought to bear.
No one was the wiser
What they showed was deeper blush
Or the German Kaiser.
Jolly soldiers went away
Bottled in malarkey,
Looking for the Bunglethorn
With their trusty car key.
What they found and what they did
Is writ up in the pages
That the yellow journals sell
To dormice and sages.
Santa down the chimney
Looking for the Bunglethorn,
Not Niminy-Piminy.
How it happened I can't say;
The Bunglethorn escaped,
Went to live in
To hear the dishes scraped.
If you find the Bunglethorn
Beneath your snowy bed
Do not tell a living soul –
Just feed it slinky bread.
It will grow as tame as wood
And sing a gentle tune
So you will not have to go
To war upon the moon.
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