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James Whitcomb Riley - Craqueodoom
Work rating: Low

The Crankadox leaned o`er the edge of the moon
    And wistfully gazed on the sea
Where the Gryxabodill madly whistled a tune
    To the air of "Ti-fol-de-ding-dee."
The quavering shriek of the Fly-up-the-creek
    Was fitfully wafted afar
To the Queen of the Wunks as she powdered her cheek
    With the pulverized rays of a star.

The Gool closed his ear on the voice of the Grig,
    And his heart it grew heavy as lead
As he marked the Baldekin adjusting his wing
    On the opposite side of his head,
And the air it grew chill as the Gryxabodill
    Raised his dank, dripping fins to the skies,
And plead with the Plunk for the use of her bill
    To pick the tears out of his eyes.

The ghost of the Zhack flitted by in a trance,
    And the Squidjum hid under a tub
As he heard the loud hooves of the Hooken advance
    With a rub-a-dub--dub-a-dub--dub!
And the Crankadox cried, as he lay down and died,
    "My fate there is none to bewail,"
While the Queen of the Wunks drifted over the tide
    With a long piece of crape to her tail.
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