On the fourth day of when, in the land of the Frostic, came a bleak and woeful dawn.
Given the boot by the Greeder, old coot, the Savages now were all gone.
They’d flown off in an airplane much tattered and worn, it was an ancient Trimotor.
Old Henry Ford had his name on the thing, but it was a fairly reliable toter.
Except for an engine that sputtered a bit, oh, and a few missing things.
Nothing important, just a rudder or two, and the bolts that held on the wings.
Which Tinker the Savage had expertly fixed with some of that good Elmer’s glue.
When Tinker the Savage fixed something broken, it became almost as good as if new.
They’d set a course for the Great Troll Lake, to stop and visit some cousins.
They’d never met their foreign kinfolk, but they knew there were dozens and dozens.
The plane waddled along like a duck on the sauce, but all of a sudden a shudder
shook the old bird quite violently, causing Tinker the Savage to mutter:
“I forgot in my haste to top off the tank! Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!”
(To himself, of course, it’s what mutterers do, so that no one else will hear.)
So the props stopped, but the Savages popped, the cork on a bottle of fizz,
because Zenmaster Savage reminded them all, “be happy with whatever is!”
Next thing you know they landed quite safely - in spite of having no gas -
right smack dab in the middle of the road, at the top of Greater Troll Pass.
Wide eyed, the Savages stared out the windows, at critters staring right back.
Curious creatures with curious features and one of them holding a plaque.
An old Trollese saying was inscribed on that stone, to commemorate this special day:
“All of the little folks are put in this world to remind the big folks to play.”
After a ceremony filled with greetings and hugs, they all headed off to partake
of the most treasured Trollian tradition of all, the Great Annual Troll Lake Clambake.
*to be continued...don’t ask me why, I don’t know.
What else is a fella to do on a cold rainy day?
With no where to be and no where to go?