The Galumphing is a terrible creature,
He lies disguised as a verb,
His smell is a prominent feature,
Tho he disguises it with herbs,
He slithers and predates as a noun,
How cleverly, steadily he will creep,
He will often be noted about town,
His teeth rattle as he boldly leaps.
And for most he will never be seen,
But to others that view will be their last,
For he is known to be mean,
When you hear him approach, hope he slinks past.
Argh! This is a horrible word! I'm trying to be over clever and force the word to do something for me that it is very resistant to. Sadly, this falls flat on its face but onwards and upwards - didn't somebody somewhere once say that, 'tomorrow is another day'? Part of this challenge is accepting that if I am not giving the time to think and work on drafts, that rough work will be what results. Sometimes that throws up interesting things, sometimes it doesn't (as in today's little effort). Always worth doing though; sometimes a silk purse can be crafted from that sow's ear. Sometimes.