Of course, it's rot,
But they love that view of the garden plot."

At half-past two on a Wednesday morn
A most peculiar Glug was born;
And later on, when he grew a man,
He scoffed and sneered at the Chosen Plan.
"It's wrong!" said this Glug, whose name was Joi.
"Bah!" said the Glugs. "He's a crazy boy!"
And they climbed the trees, as the West wind stirred,
To hark to the note of the Guffer Bird.
It seems absurd,
But they're foolishly fond of the Guffer Bird.

And every reed that rustles and sways
By the gurgling river that plashes and plays,
And the beasts of the dread, neurotic night
All know the Glugs quite well by sight.
And, "Why," say they; "It is easily done;
For a dexter Glug's like a sinister one!"
And they climb the trees. Oh, they climb the trees!
And they bark their knuckles, and chafe their knees;
And 'tis one of the world's great mysteries
That things like these
Get into the serious histories.



III. THE STONES OF GOSH