Verdant were the sorroosills
skritching 'cross the frofrum
as Tooey took his bemowak
down the zigging path.
Fiercely did he cast a glare
through the fronded fromage
glum-footed with intentness,
he chum-chuffled after gath.

Lo, upon the sprigen-glen,
A spookum did beslober.
So Tooey cast his bemowak
with an ardent hoe!
It whirli-gigged a webbling and
snook in his keester,
so with a thwunk, the spookum
did crash into the whew.

Gibbering with gleeish glaze,
the mighty lad did whirr-a-dash,
tripping through the shadow-pan
up to the fallen prey.
Slick-slucely, did he dress his kill,
binding it hoof and tongue
upon his back. He slogged it home,
gloaming, smakful all the way.

Within the village centre,
youngst Tooey did eschewcate
o'er the many venderings
of his trumping flee.
Whooping full in grinning um,
His pappa did whumpa rug,
tossing meat upon a blaze
kindled hastily.

And all the starving wee-wuns did
lay fuzzy toof upon the prize,
til spookum was internalized
in bloated revelry.
Now Tooey set his bumpkis down
woobly in his trumbala,
Grogified with cups of rill that
flowed abundantly.

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The only way I can explain this poem is to say I woke up a little Jabberwockish today. What I'll be when I wake up tomorrow, I have no idea.
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