The frontier of Denck was bosso that day
when the prisoners of Pewn were released...
for the sun was as hot as a Hockafool’s pot
after all of her floogs have been fleeced.
The Choon moon was rising, so it wasn’t surprising
that Kelly Tacktelly came forth
from his lodge at Blue Blenck and flew down to Denck
to cross sabres with Quinge of the North.
It was well-known that Quinge used to poach and impinge
on Tacktelly’s rectigulous land
and had made off, it’s true, with a pluckwuck or two,
which had cost Kelly T. half a grand!
So, with sidge sabres drawn, the bopple was on
as the other Pewn cell-mates were scattered;
how they jeered! how they jooted! They huckered and hooted
as their humbusky heroes got battered!
(Who would win? To them it hardly mattered.)
Just then like a shroud came a cunimjus cloud
that just snawffled the sun quick as thought...
so the bopplers peered ups as the rain came in cups,
maybe leaving their flay-fest half-fought.
Still they hated to scrawn with their mates looking on,
so they plunged one more lunge at each udder;
but the sabres bedewed by the rain went askewed
and the heroes got schnocked in the mudder!
Tacktelly and Quingie were dopey and dingy
when suddenly Sun shined again...
and their sabres were senck in the hard earth of Denck
so they both of them counted to ten...
“Maybe that was a sign,” growled the Quinge, with a kind
of regrievulous glower on his phizz.
“I agree,” grunted Kelly. “And although you’re still smelly,
guess it’s best to leave things as they is.”
Now, the Choon moon has set since the two bopplers met
on that plain where two sabres are stuck,
telling all: “Wars shall cease, and in Denck there’ll be peace
long as Kelly and Quinge mind the muck!
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