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Old Gnarleytoes

Posted by Kent Whittington on February 23, 2012 at 7:35 PM

I seem to be on a roll here.  This next one is a cute little story in verse I call "Old Gnarlytoes".  It begs the question, "if something seems horrible, is it truly?"  I hope you all have been enjoying my posts lately and I hope you enjoy this one as it is one of my favorites so far.


Thanks!  :)


Old Gnarlytoes

by Kent Whittington


 

Old Gnarlytoes sat

In his dark, gloomy hole,

All grumpy and irksome,

A right miserable troll!

 


When high moonrise came

He climbed out of the dark,

And emerged from a tunnel

He had dug in the park.

 


He kept to the shadows,

So as not to be seen

By any wandering person

Whose vision was keen.

 


He wandered quiet streets,

Searching here, peering there,

In the hopes he might find

A child’s scent in the air.

 


He wandered the night,

Quiet as a mouse,

When, lo and behold!

He found a grand house.

 


Three stories, it was

With high columns of stone,

And large, blackened windows

With no light to be shown.

 


Gnarlytoes weaved a small spell,

Shrinking down to the floor,

And, going on tip-toe,

Snuck under the door.

 


Growing back to full size,

He moved through the gloom,

From the foyer he entered,

Searching room to room.


All Downstairs was quiet,

No sound, not a peep!

Gnarlytoes lumbered upstairs

Where the people did sleep.

 


He found mother and father

Asleep in their beds.

Never once did they stir

Wherever he tread.

 


Brother’s room was next,

A right terrible mess!

He almost seemed a young troll

Sleeping snug in his nest.

 


This bother the old troll,

He scowled with derision.

This dirty boy won’t do!

Then he came to a decision

 


To search one more room

Where sister lay quiet,

Snug as a bug in her bed

And no nightmares this night.

 


Gnarlytoes harumphed,

Startling the poor child to death,

And leaned in so close

Sister could smell his foul breath.

 


She trembled and shook

As he climbed on her bed,

Moving closer and closer,

This creature she dread.

 


He showed his sharp teeth.

This was it! It’s the end!

But he held out a rose,

Saying, “Will you be my friend?”

Categories: Short Stories

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