New Life in Malkinate Shadowed
Comi-Con International is going on right now. It’s the geek/creative Xanadu, and news has cast me in a playful set.
The Bat, the Cat, the Merlin and the King adrimt kapt, and fuscor all untimely wabeward bound.
Wherewhin did there awkust the Bat, of frightful turcandid thought become, and to coatress others declaim alarm.
“Trains run early, ruffbeast snake and wicketwide enthrough! Now xirkle ‘mongst our friends and flowerbeds to make of them a nest!”
Acrost, forsworn such a krikent squall the Merlin wouldst remude the Bat, but trickle-eye grimolkin frïst all haksprat attent, and needful matter did predate.
The King, as was his wont, said nothing. Only glass eye open to parlasy what behoock, and bored akimward trimbleton moreover that betray’d.
“Short work to undermine ruproot,” the Cat would say. “Obv casulty begonias, a memorial propose; floksen mimrose and cup-stone ley astrud the churnled plaket.”
“Too dear!” prosooth the Bat, “Miser not of flowers doore, and a martyr not of friendsly make!”
For his part, the Cat opined, he took in them of equal pleasure, but grinning did the point acclude, and trabward disproceed.
Forswit again droft habit-kapt a hyment company of five, two short.
(Poetry is not my forté, forgive me.)