Here’s Old Dabber of the West. His granddaughter Nim loves him best. Her smiles, so rare, she tends to share with Dabber alone above the rest.
Motty, the hollowite nanny? Why, the length of her tongue was uncanny. With consummate ease to the tops of the trees it flicked with a bo bonny banny.
A particular favorite of the Queeeen was Bandy of Thorns, bendo dreen. He alone, you see, could control the three, the mad Triplet Princesses, each one a teen.
Sill was a twin. So was Fiss. Sailing the sea was their bliss, on a trampoline raft, most unusual craft, though they sensed there was something amiss.
None can compare to Rindle Mer with her frothy shock of orange hair. You need not ask if she’s up to the task. She’ll revive the Woods with seconds to spare.
The last of the roamers was Lace. She had a most serious face. She wrote many stories of Boadlian glories. For a thousand years none took her place.
Beloved by all was Lady May of Orrun from Cloud Castle City to all places foreign. Her grace and her style caused many a smile on many a face to be worrun.
The Triplet Princesses Three were exhausting to hear or to see. Their cacophonous fury or tempestuous hurry left no room for silence to be.
A nester musician named Frad was positively mad to unravel the mystery of a hutkeeper’s history. To do so would make his heart glad.
This eccentric and elegant Queeen was raised by a Dragon betweeen a river and pool. Under hill was her school. No odder upgrowth has there beeen.
