This is an odd wee story. |
The Meox It never dawned on he on approaching the town That the story's he'd come by were true. And the silver smoke rose from the hill by the meadow And all who befell the sight knew. That the Meox was stirring, as out from his bed With inflatable hands and a spiky blue head His, skinny as chicken legs, knee's knocking loudly To warn of his rising, so leave at his stead The children had told him, as often before That the Meox would wander confused. Not a soul came around him, as often was said There was venomous rage in his heart crimson red. He tore and he mangled and left in his wake Destruction and squalor, and fine smelling cakes. A peircing shrill wail, not a howl or a snarl Would signal the Meox's ensnare Then silence ensued, the air rang in silence, Heads peaked from house doors ajar. Unnatural silence, the eye of a storm With chills in the sunshine, and shadows were warm. Ludicrocity. He muttered. It couldn't be true. Such a being was fiction, was something he knew. Took upon himself, sword in hand To seek out the truth, free enslaved in this land. He strolled, not a care, past the meadow and hill. Where the smoke was not rising, but hanging quite still. To where the Meox lived, a shack made of pickles. Ludicrocity, the muttered, it felt all too fickle. Still to the shack, he crept like a shadow Knelt by the door, by the pickles and meadow. Pushed open the door, it felt cold and quite sticky. And looked on the Meox, it looked almost pretty Astonished, he looked at the being in question, It's weeping, it's shudders, too much to mention. Tears fell down quick from its silvery eyes. But silently sat by the fire to cry. He stood for a moment unseen by the door. Till the Meox sat upright, then jumped to the floor. In a flash, in which that he couldn't have moved The Meox lept for him, and suddenly glued To his chest in an almighty hug, which he used His inflatable boxing glove hands, and felt soothed. He peered at the being, attached to his breast It's tears staining his tunic a mess But he smiled and he sighed, and he bought him in closer And in an less than an instant, he knew. But his story was lost there, he was not seen again. The rumours ran thick far and wide. Then how did we hear all the story so true? When only the Meox knew. Consider this also, as you sift through the sand How difficult's typing, with inflatable hands Meox. adj. (1) To Meox. S/he is Meoxeded (2) To completely U-turn on a situation. (a)"she Meoxeded and changed her mind. (b) Driving Instruction "Perform a Meox after the next junction" (3) To result to ultimate Ludicrocity. Ludicrocity (1) The place where the Meox lives. |