Nancy Manxome Wifle Poem by karen sinclair

The Manxome little Minx
Stood beneath illustrious Boa-bob tree
She scratched her left butt cheek
With grazed grass stained knees

Stared pon the ghostly forms gibbering with fear
That Nancy (her name) might manhandle their ears
And drag them petrified, within her Boa-bob bar
Unvisited by good-folk... being so far

Within a dusted deserted dessert dry plane
Exhausted generosity, she was repeating again
On meringue peach dust, must run for their freedom
Avoiding the clutches, of most the dreaded kingdom

Gunshot start! ...

The banshee chase... As spirits in fear race off again
The pursuit was a violent fearfilled reign
Escaping her clutches, unashamed unabashed
The result was a grizzly, grassfilled dash

Spiritless, hopeless, hapless no lie
Till Nancy little Minxie, did wiffle by
And grabbing the sweet candy, she did so desire
Dragging her victim, to Hell by her Boa-bob fire

Spirit screamed, twas a sordid, torturous affair
Then Nancy Manxome Minxie re-emerged
Brushing her hair