The Nondle

Whilst arching in a turtle-neck A breeze blew softly by, Too young to have a nosebleed, Instead I made it cry. ‘What have you seen, where do you go?’ I wondered up aloud. ‘I’m off to see the Nondle,’ It answered like a cloud. ‘What kind of ventivness is that?’ I arsed as it rolled by. ‘The kind that twickers from the lisp, And giggles from the eye.’ ‘Will there be tea and room for me Aboard your merry bus? I’d love to see a Nondle I’d really make a fuss.’ ‘Your snoggling at its finery Is something to behold. A notion filled with butterscotch. A whimsy- ready rolled.’ The breeze, who doubled at the chin, Continued on its wabe, Declaring as it gathered speed, ‘Oh, joyous in the dabe!’ And so, with charm and common flare We followed like a stump. Growing ever after To see the Nondles hump.