The Zumbiog

by Monica Yell

Once I met a Zumbiog,
Right here, next to this tree,
He pombled over with brog-brog-brog,
And sat right next to me.

I told him his nose was awfully long,
But he said that it needed to be,
In order to luffle the snats from a fong
He needed his nose to see.

I asked him what he meant by that,
Having not understood,
But he said it was all just zhat
Which would come to no good.

Zhat? I thought, what on earth is that?
Unless he wasn’t from earth at all,
Like my cousin’s peculiar cat,
And then he started to bawl:

“I’ve been wunged from my gohne,
I’ve been fungled far away,
Now they’ve left me all alone.
With this phestrianus vay!”

“If I only had my boglio
I might yet fape my geth,
But alas my last one alio
In a danglian areth.”

I gave to him my handkerchief,
In the hope that it might help,
To stem his sudden groaning grief
And stop his piteous yelp.

‘A boglio, a boglio!’ the little thing did cry,
He moved to go, with fearsome speed,
And with my handkerchief fly,
But ere he went he offered to lead,

That I might follow too,
Since I had helped him get back home
And stop feeling so blue,
I grasped upon the boglio and we began to roam.

What did you see?” I hear you ask,
Where on Earth did you go?”
Well, it wasn’t on Earth, by any task,
And I’ll explain it all below:

The magnifocks were exaliston,
And the pagliors did stemp,
I found a wanigsy fandigon,
And I learnt to cranviemp!