Wednesday, December 28, 2005


In the land of Grullnidge, in the deepest darkest jungle
Two miles south of the vilage of Farflungle
Over the mountain by Ookala Rock
Lies the valley of the land of the willacok
Now no one has seen a willacik, only their hide
Some claim is just a rabbit pelt another person dyed
But that doesn't explain the part that sticks out
Where on the willacok is his dog like snout
And if it is a rabbit's pelt thentell me why does he
Have a long skinny tail where a bunny's tail is fuzzy
There is only one way at another conclusion you could arrive
And that's to catch a willacok and bring him back alive

Now, there's two kinds of willacoks, one of them is verbal

Like the one in our story who goes by the name of Herbl

Hiding in the jungle is how he spends his day

Talking to himself to scare hunters away

Herbl was camouflaged so hunters couldn't see him

Just like the pelts in the Grullnidgian Museum

So when they heard the voice but could not see the man

They would throw down their weapon, yell "Ghost!" and then they ran

It was always the willacok because nobody suspects

A beast who knows a thousand languages and a million dialects

Don't ask me hiow he knows them, but he never gets them wrong

Just like the freeblet werbler sings the same old song


Herbl copyright 1996 E S Toledo, story copyright 2005 K D Murphy


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