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To Slip The Woldfox

Ten Wingles embastioned themselves at a price,
Exchanging the sky for the safety of bars.
But Wingles the breezes would always entice
To flit over leaves under stars.

But weftled in shadows, with wisp-light-ish eyes,
The Fae-amber Woldfox connived with a grin.
So wellished our hero perchance to devise
To extricate him and his kin.

Like blackbirds, he perched them upon yonder lip,
And pallid as cotton, he opened the gate.
Then feigning there dumb-eyed, he waited to slip
The Woldfox’s froth-ulous hate.

Ho! Emb-er-ous shadow afoff with a smile—
The Woldfox upon him with sulfurous fume!
Oh, fellish its gnacking—its fangs invanile—
Its foxglove politeness a tomb.

As slick as a knife it galumphed toward its feast
And tattered asunder the wellisher’s wing.
But hero and Wingles come-rounded the beast
And leapt out the gate with a Cling!

The Woldfox imprisoned! Afammoxed! Defied!
So Wingles hip-hipped and hoorayed in delight.
But tatterous wing had their hero supplied
To purchase for Wingles their flight.