The Quidnunc

A curious fellow named Trunc Was known as the town’s quidnunc. He’d peer and he’d pry, With a glint in his eye, Till secrets would spill with a thunk! An irritating chap was this hunk, As some thought he’s been smoking some ‘skunk’. He’d dig and lie With a knot in his tie, But when challenged – off he’d slunk. He sniffed at my secrets with funk, Like a bloodhound who’d swallowed a chunk. He twisted each tale With a wink and a wail— Then vanished, the cowardly punk! An invariable text that's verbose From the gossip to keep on one’s toes. He’ll try cajoling first, Then revert to a tryst With the devil to win shadow throws. He danced through the halls with a pose, Sniffing secrets like scent on a rose. But truth, being shy, Slipped past his sly eye— And left him with thorns in his prose. There once was a town named for quidnunc We avoided like proverbial skunk. Now we give it a miss And would pass on the bliss Of this old fellow’s verbiage bunk. “Welcome to Quidnunc,” it read, Where whispers and rumors are fed. But we’ve locked every gate To that old reprobate— Now silence and truth reign instead.