The Neverending Limerick Story 3

Taken from the ongoing Word Games section of the Storyteller's Circle

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 Meanwhile Bob and Nob were a-running,
A-seeking with all of their cunning -
They spoke to each tree
Anywhere they could see,
With linguistic verbosity stunning.

 Unfortunately the trees were all dumb:
They could talk till their tongues were numb
But the trees woudn't hear!
They looked far and near
'Till they spied a half-eaten plum.

 "Hob's plum!" cried the jubilant finder,
Grateful for this slight squash'ed reminder
They were on the right track,
To bring that hobbit back,
Tho' the pathways were winding and winder.

 Now poor Hob was getting quite bored
Despite evidence that he had snored
This tree had him caught
No more food had he bought
and against hunger he wasn't insured

 In a fit of hunger's desperation,
He rummaged with new inspiration
'Mid leaves for good filler,
Like a fat caterpillar,
And found fodder for resuscitation.

 Now off to Archet they plied
For entwives they hoped to descry
Hob wish? be let go
And Ent? love to show
"Where are you?" he too long has cried.

 Bob and Nob came running down hill
Flying past a quaint old windmill
Then out popped a ranger
said "This way there's danger!"
Then promptly fell over quite ill

 Hob became as confused as could be
Was this ent a "he" or a "she"?
Then he realized
Her song idealized
the ent's plight to the nth degree!

 "Why it's one of those dirty strange men!"
Hob said, "Though he's straight from the fen,
They're usually right,
When they warn need of flight,
So perhaps we should turn back again?"

"oh no," the entwife replied
tis a bad man you've just descried
so off we must go
to search high and low
for orchards and wheat fields so wide.

 "I hope I don't seem too impertinent,
But what exactly is an 'ent'?
Or 'entwife', as you say,
And why take me away
Tucked in your, er, branches so eminent?"

an ent is as old as they come
we once were like trees, and as dumb
from the elves, learned to talk
and then how to walk
for longer than any kingdom.

 And my branches, I'm glad that you see,
Are lovely, and flowing and free,
But I've found that they itch,
And that I cannot scritch,
So I need you to scratch them for me.

So off we'll go look around
For I hardly ever hear a sound
As a squirrel in my ears
Tucked two acorns, I fear
It seems I'm deaf, or so I have found.

 So Hob and the Entwife they went
to look for her straying old Ent
But look as they might
All day and all night
They never did pick up the scent.


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