Wind fwooshed around obliterating
all sound, encouraging Flungerlorts
and Bandersnorts to wowl, howl,
careen and lowl until even the wind
abashedly quieted down.
Tilly florped onto the scene with caleeshes
and caloshes in her purple striped hat
and maroon splattered galoshes. Giving a scowl
to the Flungerlorts and a growl to the
Bandersnorts, she lifted a Sprick to her lips,
inhaled a lungful of air and smushed her eyelids
quick as if she were going to be sick.
Flungerlorts hushed, Bandersnorts flushed.
The wowling and howling came to a skitteling
scud while the lowling splerted under the
localist loitering Lorberloo lub.
Tilly adjusted her fingers around the slippery
Sprick and gave the little reed a loving lick.
Exhaling with a hullabaloo she blew and blew
and blew. A fraptious sound bounced off of
the shimmying ground. It clithered, tithered,
swithered around, never stopping until it
found itself blorphingly wound to
Tally’s tiny knee, plain as plain could be.
Tilly looked at Tally and chortled at the sight.
Tally looked at Tilly and spriggled with
delight. Then Tilly and Tally zlanged
into the deepening night. Zipping, zooping,
zopping over the Tipperwilly trees and tipping,
tooping, topping under Lorberloo lubs
until they were altogether out of sight.
The Flungerlorts hooted and the Bandersnorts
tooted, encouraging the wind to wowl, howl,
careen and lowl until the darkening night was
yarwooted with sound until finally the fantabulous
moon sank all the way, all the way, all the way down.